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x.      ^N 


FAMOUS    AMERICANS 


OF 


RECENT   TIMES. 


BY 


JAMES     PARTON, 

AVTMOk  OF      '  LIFE  OP  ANDREW  JACKSON,"    "  LIFE   AND  TIMES  OF   AARON    BUCK," 
**  t.'T«    AND   TIMES   OF   BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN,"   KTC. 


ELEVENTH  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 


1884. 


•ntered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  18<J7,  bjr 

TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS, 
to  the  Clerk's  o<jice  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachuostt* 


NOTE. 

THE  papers  contained  in  this  volume  were  originally  pub- 
lished in  the  North  American  Review,  with  four  exceptions. 
Those  upon  THEODOSIA  BURR  and  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR  first 
appeared  in  Harper's  Magazine  ;  that  upon  COMMODORE  VAN- 
DERBILT,  in  the  New  York  Ledger;  and  that  upon  HENRT 
WARD  BEECHER  AND  HIS  CHURCH,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 


CONTENTS 


PAOB 

HENRY  CLAY                         , 1 

DANIEL  WEBSTER     .......  53 

JOHN  C.  CALHOUN        .         .        .        .        .        .         .113 

JOHN  RANDOLPH 173 

STEPHEN  GIRARD  AND  HIS  COLLEGE        ....  221 

JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT  AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD  259 

CHARLES  GOODYEAR      . ' 307 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER  AND  ms  CHURCH  .         .        .  347 

COMMODORE  VANDERBILT 373 

THEODOSIA  BURR     ^       ......  391 

JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB 427 

, 


HENRY    CLAY. 


HENRY    CLAY. 


THE  close  of  the  war  removes  the  period,  preceding  it  to  a 
great  distance  from  us,  so  that  we  can  judge  its  public  men 
as  though  we  were  the  "  posterity  "  to  whom  they  sometimes  ap- 
pealed. James  Buchanan  still  haunts  the  neighborhood  of  Lan- 
caster, a  living  man,  giving  and  receiving  dinners,  paying  his 
taxes,  and  taking  his  accustomed  exercise ;  but  as  an  historical 
figure  he  is  as  complete  as  Bolingbroke  or  "Walpole.  It  is  not 
merely  that  his  work  is  done,  nor  that  the  results  of  his  work 
are  apparent ;  but  the  thing  upon  which  he  wrought,  by  their 
relation  to  which  he  and  his  contemporaries  are  to  be  estimated, 
has  perished.  The  statesmen  of  his  day,  we  can  all  now  plainly 
see,  inherited  from  the  founders  of  the  Republic  a  problem  im- 
possible of  solution,  with  which  some  of  them  wrestled  manfully, 
others  meanly,  some  wisely,  others  foolishly.  If  the  workmen 
have  not  all  passed  away,  the  work  is  at  once  finished  and  de- 
stroyed, like  the  Russian  ice-palace,  laboriously  built,  then  melted 
in  the  sun.  We  can  now  have  the  requisite  sympathy  with 
those  late  doctors  of  the  body  politic,  who  came  to  the  consul- 
tation pledged  not  to  attempt  to  remove  the  thorn  from  its  flesh, 
and  trained  to  regard  it  as  the  spear-head  in  the  side  of  Epami- 
nondas,  —  extract  it,  and  the  patient  dies.  In  the  writhings  of 
the  sufferer  the  barb  has  fallen  out,  and  lo !  he  lives  and  is  get- 
ting well.  "We  can  now  forgive  most  of  those  blind  healers,  and 
even  admire  such  of  them  as  were  honest  and  not  cowards ;  for, 
in  truth,  it  was  an  impossibility  with  which  they  had  to  grapple, 
and  it  was  not  one  of  their  creating. 

Of  our  public  men  of  the  sixty  years  preceding  the  war,  Henry 
Clay  was  certainly  the  most  shining  figure.      Was  there  ever  a 


4  HENRY   CLAY. 

public  man,  not  at  the  head  of  a  state,  so  beloved  as  he  ?  Who 
ever  heard  such  cheers,  so  hearty,  distinct,  and  ringing,  as  those 
which  his  name  evoked  ?  Men  shed  tears  at  his  defeat,  and 
women  went  to  bed  sick  from  pure  sympathy  with  his  disap- 
pointment. He  could  not  travel  during  the  last  thirty  years  of 
his  life,  but  only  make  progresses.  When  he  left  his  home  the 
public  seized  him  and  bore  him  along  over  the  land,  the  commit- 
tee of  one  State  passing  him  on  to  the  committee  of  another,  and 
the  hurrahs  of  one  town  dying  away  as  those  of  the  next  caught 
his  ear.  The  country  seemed  to  place  all  its  resources  at  his 
disposal ;  all  commodities  sought  his  acceptance.  Passing  through 
Newark  once,  he  thoughtlessly  ordered  a  carriage  of  a  certain 
pattern :  the  same  evening  the  carriage  was  at  the  door  of  his 
hotel  in  New  York,  the  gift  of  a  few  Newark  friends.  It  was  so 
everywhere  and  with  everything.  His  house  became  at  last  a 
museum  of  curious  gifts.  There  was  the  counterpane  made  for 
him  by  a  lady  ninety -three  years  of  age,  and  Washington's  camp- 
goblet  given  him  by  a  lady  of  eighty ;  there  were  pistols,  rifles, 
and  fowling-pieces  enough  to  defend  a  citadel;  and,  among  a  bun- 
dle of  walking-sticks,  was  one  cut  for  him  from  a  tree  that  shaded 
Cicero's  grave.  There  were  gorgeous  prayer-books,  and  Bibles 
of  exceeding  magnitude  and  splendor,  and  silver-ware  in  great 
profusion.  On  one  occasion  there  arrived  at  Ashland  the  sub- 
stantial present  of  twenty-three  barrels  of  salt.  In  his  old  age, 
when  his  fine  estate,  through  the  misfortunes  of  his  sons,  was 
burdened  with  mortgages  to  the  amount  of  thirty  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  other  large  debts  weighed  heavily  upon  his  soul,  and  he 
feared  to  be  compelled  to  sell  the  home  of  fifty  years  and  seek  a 
strange  abode,  a  few  old  friends  secretly  raised  the  needful  sum, 
secretly  paid  the  mortgages  and  discharged  the  debts,  and  then 
caused  the  aged  orator  to  be  informed  of  what  had  been  done, 
but  not  of  the  names  of  the  donors.  "  Could  my  life  insure  the 
success  of  Henry  Clay,  I  would  freely  lay  it  down  this  day," 
exclaimed  an  old  Rhode  Island  sea-captain  on  the  morning  of 
the  Presidential  election  of  1844.  Who  has  forgotten  the  passion 
of  disappointment,  the  amazement  and  despair,  at  the  result  of 
that  day's  fatal  work  ?  Fatal  we  thought  it  then,  little  dreaming 


HENRY   CLAY.  5 

that,  while  it  precipitated  evil,  it  brought  nearer  the  day  of 
deliverance. 

Our  readers  do  not  need  to  be  reminded  that  popularity  the 
most  intense  is  not  a  proof  of  merit.  The  two  most  mischievous 
men  this  country  has  ever  produced  were  extremely  popular,  — 
one  in  a  State,  the  other  in  every  State,  —  and  both  for  long 
periods  of  time.  There  are  certain  men  and  women  and  children 
who  are  natural  heart-winners,  and  their  gift  of  winning  hearts 
seems  something  apart  from  their  general  character.  We  have 
known  this  sweet  power  over  the  affections  of  others  to  be  pos- 
sessed by  very  worthy  and  by  very  barren  natures.  There  are 
good  men  who  repel,  and  bad  men  who  attract.  We  cannot, 
therefore,  assent  to  the  opinion  held  by  many,  that  popularity  is 
an  evidence  of  shallowness  or  ill-desert.  As  there  are  pictures 
expressly  designed  to  be  looked  at  from  a  distance  by  great  num- 
bers of  people  at  once,  —  the  scenery  of  a  theatre,  for  example, 
—  so  there  are  men  who  appear  formed  by  Nature  to  stand  forth 
before  multitudes,  captivating  every  eye,  and  gathering  in  great 
harvests  of  love  with  little  effort.  If,  upon  looking  closely  at 
<nese  pictures  and  these  men,  we  find  them  less  admirable  than 
they  seemed  at  a  distance,  it  is  but  fail-  to  remember  that  they 
were  not  meant  to  be  looked  at  closely,  and  that  "  scenery  "  has 
as  much  right  to  exist  as  a  Dutch  painting  which  bears  the  test 
of  the  microscope. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  Henry  Clay,  who  was  for 
twenty-eight  years  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  cultivated  his 
popularity.  Without  ever  being  a  hypocrite,  he  was  habitually 
an  actor ;  but  the  part  which  he  enacted  was  Henry  Clay  exag- 
gerated. He  was  naturally  a  most  courteous  man ;  but  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  position  made  him  more  elaborately  and  univer- 
sally courteous  than  any  man  ever  was  from  mere  good-nature. 
A  man  on  the  stage  must  overdo  his  part,  in  order  not  to  seem 
to  underdo  it.  There  was  a  time  when  almost  every  visitor  to 
the  city  of  Washington  desired,  above  all  things,  to  be  presented 
to  three  men  there,  Clay,  Webster,  and  Calhoun,  whom  to  ha^  ci 
seen  was  a  distinction.  When  the  country  member  brought  for 
ward  his  agitated  constituent  on  the  floor  of  the  Senate-chamber 


6  HENRY   CLAY. 

and  introduced  him  to  Daniel  Webster,  the  Expounder  was  likely 
enough  to  thrust  a  hand  at  him  without  so  much  as  turning  his 
head  or  discontinuing  his  occupation,  and  the  stranger  shrunk 
away  painfully  conscious  of  his  insignificance.  Calhoun,  on  the 
contrary,  besides  receiving  him  with  civility,  would  converse  with 
him,  if  opportunity  favored,  and  treat  him  to  a  disquisition  on 
the  nature  of  government  and  the  "  beauty  "  of  nullification,  striv- 
ing to  make  a  lasting  impression  on  his  intellect.  Clay  would 
rise,  extend  his  hand  with  that  winning  grace  of  his,  and  in- 
stantly captivate  him  by  his  all-conquering  courtesy.  He  would 
call  him  by  name,  inquire  respecting  his  health,  the  town  whence 
he  came,  how  long  he  had  been  in  Washington,  and  send  him 
away  pleased  with  himself  and  enchanted  with  Henry  Clay. 
And  what  was  his  delight  to  receive  a  few  weeks  after,  in  his 
distant  village,  a  copy  of  the  Kentuckian's  last  speech,  bearing 
on  the  cover  the  frank  of  "  H.  Clay  " !  It  was  almost  enough  to 
make  a  man  think  of  "  running  for  Congress  "  !  And,  what  was 
still  more  intoxicating,  Mr.  Clay,  who  had  a  surprising  memory, 
would  be  likely,  on  meeting  this  individual  two  years  after  the 
introduction,  to  address  him  by  name. 

There  was  a  gamy  flavor,  in  those  days,  about  Southern  men, 
which  was  very  pleasing  to  the  people  of  the  North.  Reason 
teaches  us  that  the  barn-yard  fowl  is  a  more  meritorious  bird 
than  the  game-cock ;  but  the  imagination  does  not  assent  to  the 
proposition.  Clay  was  at  once  game-cock  and  domestic  fowl. 
His  gestures  called  to  mind  the  magnificently  branching  trees  of 
his  Kentucky  forests,  and  his  handwriting  had  the  neatness  and 
delicacy  of  a  female  copyist.  There  was  a  careless,  graceful  ease 
in  his  movements  and  attitudes,  like  those  of  an  Indian  chief; 
but  he  was  an  exact  man  of  business,  who  docketed  his  letters, 
and  could  send  from  Washington  to  Ashland  for  a  document,  tell- 
ing in  what  pigeon-hole  it  could  be  found.  Naturally  impetuous, 
he  acquired  early  in  life  an  habitual  moderation  of  statement,  an 
habitual  consideration  for  other  men's  self-love,  which  made  him 
tfie  pacificator  of  his  time.  The  great  compromtser  was  himself 
a  compromise.  The  ideal  of  education  is  to  tame  men  without 
lessening  their  vivacity,  —  to  unite  in  them  the  freedom,  the  dig- 


HENRY   CLAY.  7 

mty,  the  prowe  53  of  a  Tecumseh,  with  the  serviceable  qualities 
of  the  civilized  man.  This  happy  union  is  said  to  be  sometimes 
produced  in  the  pupils  of  the  great  public  schools  of  England, 
who  are  savages  on  the  play-ground  and  gentlemen  in  the  school- 
room. In  no  man  of  our  knowledge  has  there  been  combined  so 
much  of  the  best  of  the  forest  chief  with  so  much  of  the  good  of 
the  trained  man  of  business  as  in  Henry  Clay.  This  was  one 
secret  of  his  power  over  classes  of  men  so  diverse  as  the  hunters 
of  Kentucky  and  the  manufacturers  of  New  England. 

It  used  to  be  accounted  a  merit  in  a  man  to  rise  to  high  station 
from  humble  beginnings ;  but  we  now  perceive  that  humble 
beginnings  are  favorable  to  the  development  of  that  force  of 
character  which  wins  the  world's  great  prizes.  Let  us  never 
again  commend  any  one  for  "rising"  from  obscurity  to  eminence, 
but  reserve  our  special  homage  for  those  who  have  become 
respectable  human  beings  in  spite  of  having  had  every  advantage 
procured  for  them  by  rich  fathers.  Henry  Clay  found  an  Eton 
and  an  Oxford  in  Old  Virginia  that  were  better  for  him  than 
those  of  Old  England.  Few  men  have  been  more  truly  fortu- 
nate in  their  education  than  he.  It  was  said  of  a  certain  lady, 
that  to  know  her  was  a  liberal  education  ;  and  there  really  have 
been,  and  are,  women  of  whom  that  could  be  truly  averred.  But 
perhaps  the  greatest  good  fortune  that  can  befall  an  intelligent 
and  noble-minded  youth  is  to  come  into  intimate,  confidential 
relations  with  a  wise,  learned,  and  good  old  man,  one  who  has 
been  greatly  trusted  and  found  worthy  of  trust,  who  knows  the 
world  by  having  long  taken  a  leading  part  in  its  affairs,  and  has 
outlived  illusions  only  to  get  a  firmer  footing  in  realities.  This, 
indeed,  is  a  liberal  education ;  and  this  was  the  happiness  of 
Henry  Clay.  Nothing  in  biography  is  so  strange  as  the  cer- 
tainty with  which  a  superior  youth,  in  the  most  improbable  cir- 
cumstances, finds  the  mental  nourishment  he  needs.  Here,  in 
the  swampy  region  of  Hanover  County,  Virginia,  was  a  .bare- 
footed, ungainly  urchin,  a  poor  widow's  son,  without  one  influ- 
ential relative  on  earth ;  and  there,  in  Richmond,  sat  on  the 
chancellor's  benrh  George  Wythe,  venerable  with  years  and 
honors,  one  of  the  grand  old  men  of  Old  Virginia,  the  preceptor 


8  HENRY  CLAY. 

of  Jefferson,  signer  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  most 
learned  man  in  his  profession,  and  one  of  the  best  men  of  any 
profession.  Who  could  have  foreseen  that  this  friendless  orphan, 
a  Baptist  preacher's  son,  in  a  State  where  to  be  a  "  dissenter " 
was  social  inferiority,  should  have  found  in  this  eminent  judge  a 
friend,  a  mentor,  a  patron,  a  father  ? 

Yet  it  came  about  in  the  most  natural  way.  We  catch  our 
first  glimpse  of  the  boy  when  he  sat  in  a  little  log  school-house, 
without  windows  or  floor,  one  of  a  humming  score  of  shoeless 
boys,  where  a  good-natured,  irritable,  drinking  English  school- 
master taught  him  to  read,  write,  and  cipher  as  far  as  Practice. 
This  was  the  only  school  he  ever  attended,  and  that  was  all  he 
learned  at  it.  His  widowed  mother,  with  her  seven  young  chil- 
dren, her  little  farm,  and  two  or  three  slaves,  could  do  no  more 
for  him.  Next,  we  see  him  a  tall,  awkward,  slender  stripling  of 
thirteen,  still  barefoot,  clad  in  homespun  butternut  of  his  mother's 
making,  tilling  her  fields,  and  going  to  mill  with  his  bag  of  corn 
strapped  upon  the  family  pony.  At  fourteen,  in  the  year  1791, 
a  place  was  found  for  him  in  a  Richmond  drug-store,  where  he 
served  as  errand-boy  and  youngest  clerk  for  one  year. 

Then  occurred  the  event  which  decided  his  career.  His 
mother  having  married  again,  her  husband  had  influence  enough 
to  procure  for  the  lad  the  place  of  copying  clerk  in  the  office  of 
the  Court  of  Chancery.  The  young  gentlemen  then  employed  in 
the  office  of  that  court  long  remembered  the  entrance  among 
them  of  their  new  comrade.  He  was  fifteen  at  the  time,  but  very 
tall  for  his  age,  very  slender,  very  awkward,  and  far  from  hand- 
some. His  good  mother  had  arrayed  him  in  a  full  suit  of  pepper- 
and-salt  "  figginy,"  an  old  Virginia  fabric  of  silk  and  cotton.  His 
shirt  and  shirt-collar  were  stiffly  starched,  and  his  coat-tail  stood 
out  boldly  behind  him.  The  dandy  law  clerks  of  metropolitan 
Richmond  exchanged  glances  as  this  gawky  figure  entered,  and 
took  his  place  at  a  desk  to  begin  his  work.  There  was  some- 
thing in  his  manner  which  prevented  their  indulgence  in  the  jests 
that  usually  greet  the  arrival  of  a  country  youth  among  city 
blades ;  and  they  afterwards  congratulated  one  another  that  they 
bad  waited  a  little  before  beginning  to  tease  him,  for  they  soon 


HENRY   CLAY.  9 

found  that  he  had  brought  with  him  from  the  country  an  exceed- 
ingly sharp  tongue.  Of  his  first  service  little  is  known  except 
the  immense  fact  that  he  was  a  most  diligent  reader.  It  rests  on 
better  authority  than  "  Campaign  Lives,"  that,  while  his  fellow- 
clerks  went  abroad  in  the  evening  in  search  of  pleasure,  this  lad 
stayed  at  home  with  his  books.  It  is  a  pleasure  also  to  know 
that  he  had  not  a  taste  for  the  low  vices.  He  came  of  sound 
English  stock,  of  a  family  who  would  not  have  regarded  drunk- 
enness and  debauchery  as  "  sowing  wild  oats,"  but  recoiled  from 
the  thought  of  them  with  horror.  Clay  was  far  from  being  a 
saint ;  but  it  is  our  privilege  to  believe  of  him  that  he  was  a 
clean,  temperate,  and  studious  young  man. 

Richmond,  the  town  of  the  young  Republic  that  had  most  in  it 
of  the  metropolitan,  proved  to  this  aspiring  youth  as  true  a  Uni- 
versity as  the  printing-office  in  old  Boston  was  to  Benjamin 
Franklin ;  for  he  found  in  it  the  culture  best  suited  to  him  and 
his  circumstances.  Chancellor  Wythe,  then  sixty-seven  years  of 
age,  overflowing  with  knowledge  and  good  nature,  was  the  presi- 
dent of  that  university.  Its  professors  were  the  cluster  of  able 
men  who  had  gone  along  with  "Washington  and  Jefferson  in  the 
measures  which  resulted  in  the  independence  of  the  country. 
Patrick  Henry  was  there  to  teach  him  the  arts  of  oratory. 
There  was  a  flourishing  and  famous  debating  society,  the  pride 
of  the  young  men  of  Richmond,  in  which  to  try  his  half-fledged 
powers.  The  impulse  given  to  thought  by  the  American  Revo- 
lution was  quickened  and  prolonged  by  the  thrilling  news  which 
every  vessel  brought  from  France  of  the  revolution  there.  There 
was  an  atmosphere  in  Virginia  favorable  to  the  growth  of  a 
sympathetic  mind.  Young  Clay's  excellent  handwriting  brought 
him  gradually  into  the  most  affectionate  relations  with  Chancellor 
Wythe,  whose  aged  hand  trembled  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was 
glad  to  borrow  a  copyist  from  the  clerk's  office.  For  nearly  four 
years  it  was  the  young  man's  principal  duty  to  copy  the  decisions 
of  the  venerable  Chancellor,  which  were  curiously  learned  and 
elaborate ;  for  it  was  the  bent  of  the  Chancellor's  mind  to  trace 
the  law  to  its  sources  in  the  ancient  world,  and  fortify  his  posi- 
tions by  citations  from  Greek  and  Latin  authors.  The  Greek 
1* 


10  HENBY   CLAY. 

passages  were  a  plague  to  the  copyist,  who  knew  not  the  alphabet 
of  that  language,  but  copied  it,  so  to  speak,  by  rote. 

Here  we  have  another  proof  that,  no  matter  what  a  man's  op- 
portunities are,  he  only  learns  what  is  congenial  with  his  nature 
and  circumstances.  Living  under  the  influence  of  this  learned 
judge,  Henry  Clay  might  have  become  a  man  of  learning. 
George  Wythe  was  a  "  scholar  "  in  the  ancient  acceptation  of  the 
word.  The  whole  education  of  his  youth  consisted  in  his  acquir- 
ing the  Latin  language,  which  his  mother  taught  him.  Early 
inheriting  a  considerable  fortune,  he  squandered  it  in  dissipation, 
and  sat  down  at  thirty,  a  reformed  man,  to  the  study  of  the  law 
To  his  youthful  Latin  he  now  added  Greek,  which  he  studied 
assiduously  for  many  years,  becoming,  probably,  the  best  Greek 
scholar  in  Virginia.  His  mind  would  have  wholly  lived  in  the 
ancient  world,  and  been  exclusively  nourished  from  the  ancient 
literatures,  but  for  the  necessities  of  his  profession  and  the  stir- 
ring political  events  of  his  later  life.  The  Stamp  Act  and  the 
Revolution  varied  and  completed  his  education.  His  young 
copyist  was  not  attracted  by  him  to  the  study  of  Greek  and 
Latin,  nor  did  he  catch  from  him  the  habit  of  probing  a  subject 
to  the  bottom,  and  ascending  from  the  questions  of  the  moment 
to  universal  principles.  Henry  Clay  probed  nothing  to  the  bot- 
tom, except,  perhaps,  the  game  of  whist ;  and  though  his  instincts 
and  tendencies  were  high  and  noble,  he  had  no  grasp  of  general 
truths.  Under  Wythe,  he  became  a  stanch  Republican  of  the 
Jeffersonian  school.  Under  Wythe,  who  emancipated  his  slaves 
before  his  death,  and  set  apart  a  portion  of  his  estate  for  their 
maintenance,  he  acquired  a  repugnance  to  slavery  which  he 
never  lost.  The  Chancellor's  learning  and  philosophy  were  not 
for  him,  and  so  he  passed  them  by. 

The  tranquil  wisdom  of  the  judge  was  counteracted,  in  some 
degree,  by  the  excitemen4s  of  the  debating  society.  As  he  grew 
older,  the  raw  and  awkward  stripling  became  a  young  man  whose 
every  movement  had  a  winning  or  a  commanding  grace.  Hand- 
some he  never  was ;  but  his  ruddy  face  and  abundant  light  hair, 
the  grandeur  of  his  forehead  and  the  speaking  intelligence  of  hia 
countenance,  more  than  atoned  for  the  irregularity  of  his  features. 


HENRY   CLAY.  11 

His  face,  too,  was  a  compromise.  With  all  its  \ivacity  of  ex« 
pression,  there  was  always  something  that  spoke  of  the  Baptist 
preacher's  son,  — just  as  Andrew  Jackson's  face  had  the  set  ex- 
pression of  a  Presbyterian  elder.  But  of  all  the  bodily  gifts 
bestowed  by  Nature  upon  this  favored  child,  the  most  unique  and 
admirable  was  his  voice.  "Who  ever  heard  one  more  melodious  ? 
There  was  a  depth  of  tone  in  it,  a  volume,  a  compass,  a  rich  and 
tender  harmony,  which  invested  all  he  said  with  majesty.  "We 
heard  it  last  when  he  was  an  old  man  past  seventy ;  and  all  he 
said  was  a  few  words  of  acknowledgment  to  a  group  of  ladies  in 
the  largest  hall  in  Philadelphia.  He  spoke  only  in  the  ordinary 
tone  of  conversation ;  but  his  voice  filled  the  room  as  the  organ 
£lls  a  great  cathedral,  and  the  ladies  stood  spellbound  as  the 
swelling  cadences  rolled  about  the  vast  apartment.  "We  have 
heard  much  of  Whitefield's  piercing  voice  and  Patrick  Henry's 
silvery  tones,  but  we  cannot  believe  that  either  of  those  natural 
orators  possessed  an  organ  superior  to  Clay's  majestic  bass.  No 
one  who  ever  heard  him  speak  will  find  it  difficult  to  believe 
what  tradition  reports,  that  he  was  the  peerless  star  of  the  Rich- 
mond Debating  Society  in  1795. 

Oratory  was  then  in  the  highest  vogue.  Young  Virginians 
did  not  need  to  look  beyond  the  sea  in  order  to  learn  that  the 
orator  was  the  man  most  in  request  in  the  dawn  of  freedom. 
Chatham,  Burke,  Fox,  Sheridan,  and  Pitt  were  inconceivably 
imposing  names  at  that  day  ;  but  was  not  Patrick  Henry  the 
foremost  man  in  Virginia,  only  because  he  could  speak  and  en- 
tertain an  audience?  And  what  made  John  Adams  President 
but  his  fiery  utterances  in  favor  of  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence? There  were  other  speakers  then  in  Virginia  who  would 
have  had  to  this  day  a  world-wide  fame  if  they  had  spoken  where 
the  world  could  hear  them.  The  tendency  now  is  to  undervalue 
oratory,  and  we  reg-?t  it.  "We  believe  that,  in  a  free  country, 
every  citizen  should  be  able  to  stand  undaunted  before  his  fellow- 
citizens,  and  give  an  account  of  the  faith  that  is  in  him.  It  is  no 
argument  against  oratory  to  point  to  the  Disraelis  of  both  coun- 
tries, and  say  that  a  gift  possessed  by  such  men  cannot  be  a  val- 
uable one.  It  is  the  unmanly  timidity  and  shamefacedness  of 


12  HENRY  CLAY. 

the  rest  of  us  that  give  to  such  men  their  preposterous  impor- 
tance. It  were  a  calamity  to  America  if,  in  the  present  rage  foi 
ball-playing  and  boat-rowing,  which  we  heartily  rejoice  in,  the 
debating  society  should  be  forgotten.  Let  us  rather  end  the 
sway  of  oratory  by  all  becoming  orators.  Most  men  who  can 
talk  well  seated  in  a  chair  can  learn  to  talk  well  standing  on 
their  legs ;  and  a  man  who  can  move  or  instruct  five  persons  in  a 
small  room  can  learn  to  move  or  instruct  two  thousand  in  a  large 
one. 

That  Henry  Clay  cultivated  his  oratorical  talent  in  Rich- 
mond, we  have  his  own  explicit  testimony.  He  told  a  class  of 
law  students  once  that  he  owed  his  success  in  life  to  a  habit  early 
formed,  and  for  some  years  continued,  of  reading  daily  in  a  book 
of  history  or  science,  and  declaiming  the  substance  of  what  he 
had  read  in  some  solitary  place,  —  a  cornfield,  the  forest,  a  barn, 
with  only  oxen  and  horses  for  auditors.  "  It  is,"  said  he,  "  to 
this  early  practice  of  the  art  of  all  arts  that  I  am  indebted  for  the 
primary  and  leading  impulses  that  stimulated  my  progress,  and 
have  shaped  and  moulded  my  entire  destiny."  We  should  be 
glad  to  know  more  of  this  self-training;  but  Mr.  Clay's  "cam- 
paign "  biographers  have  stuffed  their  volumes  too  full  of  eulogy 
to  leave  room  for  such  instructive  details.  We  do  not  even  know 
the  books  from  which  he  declaimed.  Plutarch's  Lives  were  fa- 
vorite reading  with  him,  we  accidentally  learn ;  and  his  speeches 
contain  evidence  that  he  was  powerfully  infl-ienced  by  the  writ- 
ings of  Dr.  Franklin.  We  believe  it  was  from  Franklin  that  he 
learned  very  much  of  the  art  of  managing  men.  Franklin,  we 
think,  aided  this  impetuous  and  exaggerating  spirit  to  acquire 
his  habitual  moderation  of  statement,  and  that  sleepless  courtesy 
which,  in  his  keenest  encounters,  generally  kept  him  within  par- 
liamentary bounds,  and  enabled  him  to  live  pleasantly  with  men 
from  whom  he  differed  in  opinion.  Obsolete  as  many  of  his 
speeches  are,  from  the  transient  nature  of  the  topics  of  which 
they  treat,  they  may  still  be  studied  with  profit  by  young  orators 
and  old  politicians  as  examples  of  parliamentary  politeness.  It 
was  the  good-natured  and  wise  Franklin  that  helped  him  to  this. 
It  is  certain,  too,  that  at  some  part  of  his  earlier  life  he  read 


HENRY   CLAY.  13 

translations  of  Demosthenes;  for  of  all  modern  orators  Henry 
Clay  was  the  most  Demosthenian.  Calhoun  purposely  and  con- 
sciously imitated  the  Athenian  orator;  but  Clay  was  a  kindred 
spirit  with  Demosthenes.  We  could  select  passages  from  both 
these  orators,  and  no  man  could  tell  which  was  American  and 
which  was  Greek,  unless  he  chanced  to  remember  the  passage. 
Tell  us,  gentle  reader,  were  the  sentences  following  spoken  by 
Henry  Clay  after  the  war  of  1812  at  the  Federalists  who  had 
opposed  that  war,  or  by  Demosthenes  against  the  degenerate 
Greeks  who  favored  the  designs  of  Philip? 

"  From  first  to  last  I  have  uniformly  pursued  the  just  and 
virtuous  course,  —  asserter  of  the  honors,  of  the  prerogatives,  of 
the  glory  of  my  country.  Studious  to  support  them,  zealous  to 
advance  them,  my  whole  being  is  devoted  to  this  glorious  cause. 
I  was  never  known  to  walk  abroad  with  a  face  of  joy  and  exulta- 
tion at  the  success  of  the  enemy,  embracing  and  announcing  the 
joyous  tidings  to  those  who  I  supposed  would  transmit  it  to  the 
proper  place.  I  was  never  known  to  receive  the  successes  of  my 
own  country  with  trembling,  with  sighs,  with  my  eyes  bent  to  the 
earth,  like  those  impious  men  who  are  the  defamers  of  their 
country,  as  if  by  such  conduct  they  were  not  defamers  of 
themselves."  • 

Is  it  Clay,  or  is  it  Demosthenes  ?  Or  have  we  made  a  mis- 
take, and  copied  a  passage  from  the  speech  of  a  Unionist  of 
1865? 

After  serving  four  years  as  clerk  and  amanuensis,  barely  earn- 
ing a  subsistence,  Clay  was  advised  by  his  venerable  friend,  the 
Chancellor,  to  study  law ;  and  a  place  was  procured  for  him  in 
the  office  of  the  Attorney-General  of  the  State.  In  less  than  a 
year  after  formally  beginning  his  studies  he  was  admitted  to  the 
bar.  This  seems  a  short  preparation ;  but  the  whole  period  of 
his  connection  with  Chancellor  Wythe  was  a  study  of  the  law. 
The  Chancellor  was  what  a  certain  other  chancellor  styles  "a 
full  man,"  and  Henry  Clay  was  a  receptive  youth. 

When  he  had  obtained  his  license  to  practise  he  was  twenty 
years  of  age.  Debating-society  fame  and  drawing-room  popular- 
ity do  not,  in  an  old  commonwealth  like  Virginia,  bring  practict 


14  HENRY  CLAY. 

to  a  lawyer  of  twenty.  But,  as  a  distinguished  French  authoi 
has  recently  remarked  of  Julius  Caesar,  "  In  him  was  united  the 
elegance  of  manner  which  wins,  to  the  energy  of  character  which 
commands."  He  sought,  therefore,  a  new  sphere  of  exertion  far 
from  the  refinements  of  Richmond.  Kentucky,  which  Boone 
explored  in  1770,  was  a  part  of  Virginia  when  Clay  was  a  child, 
and  only  became  a  State  in  1792,  when  first  he  began  to  copy 
Chancellor  Wythe's  decisions.  The  first  white  family  settled  in 
it  in  1775 ;  but  when  our  young  barrister  obtained  his  license, 
twenty-two  years  after,  it  contained  a  white  population  of  nearly 
two  hundred  thousand.  His  mother,  with  five  of  her  children 
and  a  second  husband,  had  gone  thither  five  years  before.  In 
1797  Henry  Clay  removed  to  Lexington,  the  new  State's  oldest 
town  and  capital,  though  then  containing,  it  is  said,  but  fifty 
houses.  He  was  a  stranger  there,  and  almost  penniless.  He 
took  board,  not  knowing  where  the  money  was  to  come  from  to 
pay  for  it.  There  were  already  several  lawyers  of  repute  in  the 
place.  "I  remember,"  said  Mr.  Clay,  forty-five  years  after, 
"how  comfortable  I  thought  I  should  be  if  I  could  make  one 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  Virginia  money  ;  and  with  what  delight 
I  received  my  first  fifteen-shilling  fee.  My  hopes  were  more 
than  realized.  I  immediately  rushed  into  a  successful  and  lucra- 
tive practice."  In  a  year  and  a  half  he  was  in  a  position  to 
marry  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  first  men  of  the  State,  Colonel 
Thomas  Hart,  a  man  exceedingly  beloved  in  Lexington. 

It  is  surprising  how  addicted  to  litigation  were  the  early  set- 
tlers of  the  Western  States.  The  imperfect  surveys  of  land, 
the  universal  habit  of  getting  goods  on  credit  at  the  store,  and 
"  difficulties  "  between  individuals  ending  in  bloodshed,  filled  the 
court  calendars  with  land  disputes,  suits  for  debt,  and  exciting 
murder  cases,  which  gave  to  lawyers  more  importance  and  better 
chances  of  advancement  than  they  possessed  in  the  older  States. 
Mr.  Clay  had  two  strings  to  his  bow.  Besides  being  a  man  of 
red  tape  and  pigeon-holes,  exact,  methodical,  and  strictly  attentive 
to  business,  he  had  a  power  over  a  Kentucky  jury  such  as  no 
other  man  has  ever  wielded.  To  this  day  nothing  pleases  aged 
Kentuckians  better  than  to  tell  stories  which  they  heard  their 


HENRY   CLAY.  15 

lathers  tell,  of  Clay's  happy  repartees  to  opposing  counsel,  hie 
ingenious  cross-questioning  of  witnesses,  his  sweeping  torrents  of 
invective,  his  captivating  courtesy,  his  melting  pathos.  Single 
gestures,  attitudes,  tones,  have  come  down  to  us  through  two  or 
three  memories,  and  still  please  the  curious  guest  at  Kentucky 
firesides.  But  when  \ve  turn  to  the  cold  records  of  this  part  of 
his  life,  we  find  little  to  justify  his  traditional  celebrity.  It  ap- 
pears that  the  principal  use  to  which  his  talents  were  applied 
during  the  first  years  of  his  practice  at  the  bar  was  in  defending 
murderers.  He  seems  to  have  shared  the  feeling  which  then 
prevailed  in  the  Western  country,  that  to  defend  a  prisoner  at 
the  bar  is  a  nobler  thing  than  to  'assist  in  defending  the  public 
against  his  further  depredations ;  and  he  threw  all  his  force  into 
the  defence  of  some  men  who  would  have  been  "none  the  worse 
for  a  hanging."  One  day,  in  the  streets  of  Lexington,  a  drunken 
fellow  whom  he  had  rescued  from  the  murderer's  doom  cried  out, 
"  Here  comes  Mr.  Clay,  who  saved  my  life."  "  Ah !  my  poor 
fellow,"  replied  the  advocate,  "  I  fear  I  have  saved  too  many  like 
you,  who  ought  to  be  hanged."  The  anecdotes  printed  of  his 
exploits  in  cheating  the  gallows  of  its  due  are  of  a  quality  which 
shows  that  the  power  of  this  man  over  a  jury  lay  much  in  his 
manner.  His  delivery,  which  "  bears  absolute  sway  in  oratory," 
was  bewitching  and  irresistible,  and  gave  to  quite  commonplace 
wit  and  very  questionable  sentiment  an  amazing  power  to  please 
and  subdue. 

We  are  far  from  thinking  that  he  was  not  a  very  able  lawyer. 
Judge  Story,  we  remember,  before  whom  he  argued  a  cause  later 
in  life,  was  of  opinion  that  he  would  have  won  a  high  position  at 
the  bar  of  the  Supreme  Court,  if  he  had  not  been  early  drawn 
away  to  public  life.  In  Kentucky  he  was  a  brilliant,  successful 
practitioner,  such  as  Kentucky  wanted  and  could  appreciate.  In 
a  very  few  years  he  was  the  possessor  of  a  fine  estate  near  Lex- 
ington, and  to  the  single  slave  who  came  to  him  as  his  share  of 
his  father's  property  were  added  several  others.  His  wife  being 
a  skilful  and  vigorous  manager,  he  was  in  independent  circum- 
stances, and  ready  to  serve  the  public,  if  the  public  wished  him, 
when  he  had  been  but  ten  j  ears  in  his  Western  home.  Thus  he 


16  HENEY   CLAY. 

had  a  basis  for  a  public  career,  without  which  few  men  can  long 
serve  the  public  with  honor  and  success.  And  this  was  a  prin- 
cipal reason  of  the  former  supremacy  of  Southern  men  in  Wash- 
ington ;  nearly  all  of  them  being  men  who  owned  land,  which 
slaves  tilled  for  them,  whether  they  were  present  or  absent. 

The  young  lawyer  took  to  politics  very  naturally.  Posterity, 
which  will  judge  the  public  men  of  that  period  chiefly  by  their 
course  with  regard  to  slavery,  will  note  with  pleasure  that  Clay's 
first  public  act  was  an  attempt  to  deliver  the  infant  State  of 
Kentucky  from  that  curse.  The  State  Constitution  was  to  be 
remodelled  in  1799.  Fresh  from  the  society  of  Chancellor 
Wythe,  an  abolitionist  who  had  set  free  his  own  slaves,  —  fresh 
from  Richmond,  where  every  man  of  note,  from  Jefferson  and 
Patrick  Henry  downwards,  was  an  abolitionist,  —  Henry  Clay 
began  in  1798,  being  then  twenty-one  years  of  age,  to  write  a 
series  of  articles  for  a  newspaper,  advocating  the  gradual  aboli- 
tion of  slavery  in  Kentucky.  He  afterwards  spoke  on  that  side 
at  public  meetings.  Young  as  he  was,  he  took  the  lead  of  the 
public-spirited  young  men  who  strove  to  purge  the  State  from 
this  iniquity ;  but  in  the  Convention  the  proposition  was  voted 
down  by  a  majority  so  decisive  as  to  banish  the  subject  from  poli- 
tics for  fifty  years.  Still  more  honorable  was  it  in  Mr.  Clay, 
that,  in  1829,  when  Calhoun  was  maturing  nullification,  he  could 
publicly  say  that  among  the  acts  of  his  life  which  he  reflected 
upon  with  most  satisfaction  was  his  youthful  effort  to  secure 
emancipation  in  Kentucky. 

The  chapter  of  our  history  most  abounding  in  all  the  elements 
of  interest  will  be  that  one  which  will  relate  the  rise  and  first 
national  triumph  of  the  Democratic  party.  Young  Clay  came  to 
the  Kentucky  stump  just  when  the  cd^ntry  was  at  the  crisis  of 
the  struggle  between  the  Old  and  the  New.  But  in  Kentucky 
it  was  not  a  struggle ;  for  the  people  there,  mostly  of  Virginian 
birth,  had  been  personally  benefited  by  Jefferson's  equalizing 
measures,  and  were  in  the  fullest  sympathy  with  his  political 
doctrines.  When,  therefore,  this  brilliant  and  commanding  youth, 
with  that  magnificent  voice  of  his,  and  large  gesticulation,  mount- 
ed the  wagon  that  usually  served  as  platform  in  the  open-air 


HENRY   CLAY.  17 

meetings  of  Kentucky,  and  gave  forth,  in  fervid  oratory,  the 
republican  principles  he  had  imbibed  in  Richmond,  he  won  that 
immediate  and  intense  popularity  which  an  orator  always  wins 
who  gives  powerful  expression  to  the  sentiments  of  his  hearers. 
We  cannot  wonder  that,  at  the  close  of  an  impassioned  address 
upon  the  Alien  and  Sedition  Laws,  the  multitude  should  have 
pressed  about  him,  and  borne  him  aloft  in  triumph  upon  their 
shoulders ;  nor  that  Kentucky  should  have  hastened  to  employ 
him  in  her  public  business  as  soon  as  he  was  of  the  requisite  age. 
At  thirty  he  was,  to  use  the  language  of  the  stump,  "  Kentucky's 
favorite  son,"  and  incomparably  the  finest  orator  in  the  Western 
country.  Kentucky  had  tried  him,  and  found  him  perfectly  to 
her  mind.  He  was  an  easy,  comfortable  man  to  associate  with, 
wholly  in  the  Jeffersonian  taste.  His  wit  was  not  of  the  highest 
quality,  but  he  had  plenty  of  it ;  and  if  he  said  a  good  thing,  he 
had  such  a  way  of  saying  it  as  gave  it  ten  times  its  natural  force. 
He  chewed  tobacco  and  took  snuff,  —  practices  which  lowered 
the  tone  of  his  health  all  his  life.  In  familiar  conversation  he 
used  language  of  the  most  Western  description ;  and  he  had  a 
singularly  careless,  graceful  way  with  him,  that  was  in  strong 
contrast  with  the  vigor  and  dignity  of  his  public  efforts.  He  was 
an  honest  and  brave  young  man,  altogether  above  lying,  hypoc- 
risy, and  meanness,  —  full  of  the  idea  of  Republican  America 
and  her  great  destiny.  The  splendor  of  his  talents  concealed  his 
defects  and  glorified  his  foibles ;  and  Kentucky  rejoiced  in  him, 
loved  him,  trusted  him,  and  sent  him  forth  to  represent  her  in  the 
national  council. 

During  the  first  thirteen  years  of  Henry  Clay's  active  life  as  a 
politician,  —  from  his  twenty -first  to  his  thirty -fourth  year,  —  he 
appears  in  politics  only  as  the  eloquent  champion  of  the  policy 
of  Mr.  Jefferson,  whom  he  esteemed  the  first  and  best  of  living 
men.  After  defending  him  on  the  stump  and  aiding  him  in 
the  Kentucky  Legislature,  he  was  sent  in  1806,  when  he  was 
scarcely  thirty,  to  fill  for  one  term  a  seat  in  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States,  made  vacant  by  the  resignation  of  one  of  tho 
Kentucky  Senators.  Mr.  Jefferson  received  his  affectionate 
young  disciple  with  cordiality,  and  admitted  him  to  his  confi- 


18  HENRY   CLAY. 

dence.  Clay  had  been  recently  defending  Burr  before  a  Ken- 
tucky court,  entirely  believing  that  his  designs  were  lawful  and 
sanctioned.  Mr.  Jefferson  showed  him  the  cipher  letters  of  that 
mysterious  and  ill-starred  adventurer,  which  convinced  Mr.  Clay 
that  Burr  was  certainly  a  liar,  if  he  was  not  a  traitor.  Mr.  Jef- 
ferson's perplexity  in  1806  was  similar  to  that  of  Jackson  in 
1833,  —  too  much  money  in  the  treasury.  The  revenue  then 
was  fifteen  millions ;  and,  after  paying  all  the  expenses  of  the 
government  and  the  stipulated  portion  of  the  national  debt,  there 
was  an  obstinate  and  most  embarrassing  surplus.  What  to  do 
with  this  irrepressible  surplus  was  the  question  then  discussed  in 
Mr.  Jefferson's  Cabinet.  The  President,  being  a  free-trader, 
would  naturally  have  said,  Reduce  the  duties.  But  the  younger 
men  of  the  party,  who  had  no  pet  theories,  and  particularly  our 
young  Senator,  who  had  just  come  in  from  a  six  weeks'  horse- 
back flounder  over  bridgeless  roads,  urged  another  solution  of 
the  difficulty,  —  Internal  Improvements.  But  the  President  was 
a  strict-constructionist,  denied  the  authority  of  Congress  to  vote 
money  for  public  works,  and  was  fully  committed  to  that 
opinion. 

Mr.  Jefferson  yielded.  The  most  beautiful  theories  will  not 
always  endure  the  wear  and  tear  of  practice.  The  President,  it 
is  true,  still  maintained  that  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution 
ought  to  precede  appropriations  for  public  works ;  but  he  said 
this  very  briefly  and  without  emphasis,  while  he  stated  at  some 
length,  and  with  force,  the  desirableness  of  expending  the  surplus 
revenue  in  improving  the  country.  As  time  wore  on,  less  and 
less  was  said  about  the  amendment,  more  and  more  about  the  im- 
portance of  internal  improvements  ;  until,  at  last,  the  Republican 
party,  under  Clay,  Adams,  Calhoun,  and  Rush,  went  as  far  in 
this  business  of  road-making  and  canal-digging  as  Hamilton  him- 
self could  have  desired.  Thus  it  was  that  Jefferson  rendered 
true  his  own  saying,  "  We  are  all  Federalists,  we  are  all  Repub- 
licans." Jefferson  yielded,  also,  on  the  question  of  free-trade. 
There  is  a  passage  of  a  few  lines  in  Mr.  Jefferson's  Message  of 
1806,  the  year  of  Henry  Clay's  first  appearance  in  Washington. 
which  may  be  regarded  as  the  text  of  half  the  Kentuckiaii's 


HENRY  CLAY.  19 

speeches,  and  the  inspiration  of  his  public  life.  The  President  13 
discussing  the  question,  What  shall  we  do  with  the  surplus  ? 

"  Shall  we  suppress  the  impost,  and  give  that  advantage  to 
foreign  over  domestic  manufactures  ?  On  a  few  articles  of  more 
general  and  necessary  use,  the  suppression,  in  due  season,  will 
doubtless  be  right ;  but  the  great  mass  of  the  articles  upon  which 
impost  is  paid  are  foreign  luxuries,  purchased  by  those  only  who 
are  rich  enough  to  afford  themselves  the  use  of  them,  Their 
patriotism  would  certainly  prefer  its  continuance,  and  application 
to  the  great  purposes  of  the  public  education,  roads,  rivers,  ca- 
nals, and  such  other  objects  of  public  improvement  as  it  may  be 
thought  proper  to  add  to  the  constitutional  enumeration  of  Fed- 
eral powers.  By  these  operations,  new  channels  of  communica- 
tion will  be  opened  between  the  States,  the  lines  of  separation 
will  disappear,  their  interests  will  be  identified,  and  their  union 
cemented  by  new  and  indissoluble  bonds." 

Upon  these  hints,  the  young  Senator  delayed  not  to  speak  and 
act ;  nor  did  he  wait  for  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution.  His 
first  speech  in  the  Senate  was  in  favor  of  building  a  bridge  over 
the  Potomac ;  one  of  his  first  acts,  to  propose  an  appropriation  of 
lands  for  a  canal  round  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio  at  Louisville ;  and 
soon  he  brought  forward  a  resolution  directing  the  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury  to  report  a  system  of  roads  and  canals  for  the  con- 
sideration of  Congress.  The  seed  of  the  President's  Message  had 
fallen  into  good  ground. 

Returning  home  at  the  end  of  the  session,  and  re-entering  the 
Kentucky  Legislature,  we  still  find  him  a  strict  follower  of  Mr 
Tefferson.  In  support  of  the  President's  non-intercourse  policy 
(which  was  Franklin's  policy  of  1775  applied  to  the  circum- 
stances of  1808),  Mr.  Clay  proposed  that  the  members  of  the 
Legislature  should  bind  themselves  to  wear  nothing  that  was  not 
of  American  manufacture.  A  Federalist,  ignorant  of  the  illus- 
trious origin  of  this  idea,  ignorant  that  the  homespun  system  had 
caused  the  repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act,  and  would  have  postponed 
the  Revolution  but  for  the  accident  of  ~iexington,  denounced  Mr. 
Clay's  proposition  as  the  act  of  a  shameless  demagogue.  Clay 
challenged  this  ill-informed  gentleman,  and  a  duel  resulted,  ia 


20  HENRY   CLAY. 

which  two  shots  were  exchanged,  and  both  antagonists  were 
slightly  wounded.  Elected  again  to  the  Senate  for  an  unexpired 
term,  he  reappeared  in  that  body  in  1809,  and  sat  during  two 
sessions.  Homespun  was  again  the  theme  of  his  speeches.  His 
ideas  on  the  subject  of  protecting  and  encouraging  American 
manufactures  were  not  derived  from  books,  nor  expressed  in  the 
language  of  political  economy.  At  his  own  Kentucky  home, 
Mrs.  Clay,  assisted  by  her  servants,  was  spinning  and  weaving, 
knitting  and  sewing,  most  of  the  garments  required  in  her  little 
kingdom  of  six  hundred  acres,  while  her  husband  was  away  over 
the  mountains  serving  his  country.  "  Let  the  nation  do  what  we 
Kentucky  farmers  are  doing,"  said  Mr.  Clay  to  the  Senate. 
"  Let  us  manufacture  enough  to  be  independent  of  foreign  nations 
in  things  essential,  —  no  more."  He  discoursed  on  this  subject 
in  a  very  pleasant,  humorous  manner,  without  referring  to  the 
abstract  principle  involved,  or  employing  any  of  the  technical 
language  of  economists. 

His  service  in  the  Senate  during  these  two  sessions  enhanced 
his  reputation  greatly,  and  the  galleries  were  filled  when  he  was 
expected  to  speak,  little  known  as  he  was  to  the  nation  at  large. 
We  have  a  glimpse  of  him  in  one  of  Washington  Irving's  letters 
of  February,  1811:  "Clay,  from  Kentucky,  spoke  against  the 
Bank.  He  is  one  of  the  finest  fellows  I  have  seen  here,  and  one 
of  the  finest  orators  in  the  Senate,  though  I  believe  the  youngest 
man  in  it.  The  galleries,  however,  were  so  much  crowded  with 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  such  expectations  had  been  expressed 
concerning  his  speech,  that  he  was  completely  frightened,  and  ac- 
quitted himself  very  little  to  his  own  satisfaction.  He  is  a  man 
I  have  great  personal  regard  for."  This  was  the  anti-bank 
speech  which  General  Jackson  used  to  say  had  convinced  him  of 
the  impolicy  of  a  national  bank,  and  which,  with  ingenious  malice, 
he  covertly  quoted  in  making  up  his  Bank  Veto  M<  ssage  of  1832. 

Mr.  Clay's  public  life  proper  began  in  November,  1811,  when 
he  appeared  in  Washington  as  a  member  of  the  House  of  Kep- 
resentatives,  and  was  immediately  elected  Speaker  by  the  war 
party,  by  the  decisive  majority  of  thirty-one.  He  was  then 
thirty-four  years  of  age.  His  election  to  the  Speakership  on  hij 


HENRY   CLAY.  21 

first  appearance  in  the  House  gave  him,  at  once,  national  stand 
ing.  His  master  in  political  doctrine  and  his  partisan  chief, 
Thomas  Jeflerson,  was  gone  from  the  scene ;  and  Clay  could  now 
be  a  planet  instead  of  a  satellite.  Restive  as  he  had  been  under 
the  arrogant  aggressions  of  England,  he  had  schooled  himself  to 
patient  waiting,  aided  by  Jefferson's  benign  sentiments  and  great 
example.  But  his  voice  was  now  for  war;  and  such  was  the 
temper  of  the  public  in  those  months,  that  the  eloquence  of 
Henry  Clay,  seconded  by  the  power  of  the  Speaker,  rendered  the 
war  unavoidable. 

It  is  agreed  that  to  Henry  Clay,  Speaker  of  the  House  of' 
Representatives,  more  than  to  any  other  individual,  we  owe  the 
war  of  1812.  When  the  House  hesitated,  it  was  he  who, 
descending  from  the  chair, -spoke  so  as  to  reassure  it.  When 
President  Madison  faltered,  it  was  the  stimulus  of  Clay's 
resistless  presence  that  put  heart  into  him  again.  If  the 
people  seemed  reluctant,  it  was  Clay's  trumpet  harangues 
that  fired  their  minds.  And  when  the  war  was  declared, 
it  was  he,  more  than  President  or  Cabinet  or  War  Com- 
mittee, that  carried  it  along  upon  his  shoulders.  All  our  wars 
begin  in  disaster ;  it  was  Clay  who  restored  the  country  to  con- 
fidence when  it  was  disheartened  by  the  loss  of  Detroit  and  its 
betrayed  garrison.  It  was  Clay  alone  who  could  encounter  with- 
out flinching  the  acrid  sarcasm  of  John  Randolph,  and  exhibit 
the  nothingness  of  his  telling  arguments.  It  was.  he  alone  who 
could  adequately  deal  with  Quincy  of  Massachusetts,  who  allud- 
ed to  the  Speaker  and  his  friends  as  "  young  politicians,  with  their 
pin-feathers  yet  unshed,  the  shell  still  sticking  upon  them,  —  per- 
fectly unfledged,  though  they  fluttered  and  cackled  on  the  floor." 
Clay  it  was  whose  clarion  notes  rang  out  over  departing  regi- 
ments, and  kindled  within  them  the  martial  fire ;  and  it  was 
Clay's  speeches  which  the  soldiers  loved  to  read  by  the  camp-fire* 
Fiery  Jackson  read  them,  and  found  them  perfectly  to  his  taste. 
Gentle  Harrison  read  them  to  his  Tippecanoe  heroes.  When  the 
war  was  going  all  wrong  in  the  first  year,  President  Madison 
wished  to  appoint  Clay  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  land  forces  ; 
but,  said  Gallatin,  "  What  shall  we  do  without  him  in  the  House 
of  Representatives  ?  " 


22  HENRY   CLAY. 

Her.ry  Clay  was  not  a  man  of  blood.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
eminently  pacific,  both  in  his  disposition  and  in  his  politics.  Yet 
he  believed  in  the  war  of  1812,  and  his  whole  heart  was  in  it. 
The  question  occurs,  then,  Was  it  right  and  best  for  the  United 
States  to  declare  war  against  Great  Britain  in  1812?  The 
proper  answer  to  this  question  depends  upon  another :  What 
ought  we  to  think  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  ?  If  Napoleon  was, 
what  English  Tories  and  American  Federalists  said  he  was,  the 
enemy  of  mankind,  —  and  if  England,  in  warring  upon  him,  wot 
fighting  the  battle  of  mankind,  —  then  the  injuries  received  by 
neutral  nations  might  have  been  borne  without  dishonor.  When 
those  giant  belligerents  were  hurling  continents  at  one  another, 
the  damage  done  to  bystanders  from  the  flying  off  of  fragments 
was  a  thing  to  be  expected,  and  submitted  to  as  their  share  of  the 
general  ruin,  —  to  be  compensated  by  the  final  suppression  of  the 
jommon  foe.  To  have  endured  this,  and  even  to  have  submitted, 
-ror  a  time,  to  the  searching  of  ships,  so  that  not  one  Englishman 
•hould  be  allowed  to  skulk  from  such  a  fight,  had  not  been  pusil- 
fenimity,  but  magnanimity.  But  if,  as  English  Whigs  and  Amer- 
ican Democrats  contended,  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  the  armed 
soldier  of  democracy,  the  rightful  heir  of  the  Revolution,  the  sole 
alternative  to  anarchy,  the  legitimate  ruler  of  France ;  if  the 
responsibility  of  those  enormous  desolating  wars  does  not  lie  at 
his  door,  but  belongs  to  George  III.  and  the  Tory  party  of  Eng- 
land ;  if  it  is  a  fact  that  Napoleon  always  stood  ready  to  make  a 
just  peace,  which  George  HI.  and  William  Pitt  refused,  not  in 
the  interest  of  mankind  and  civilization,  but  in  that  of  the  Tory 
party  and  the  allied  dynasties,  —  then  America  was  right  in 
resenting  the  searching  and  seizure  of  her  ships,  and  right,  after 
exhausting  every  peaceful  expedient,  in  declaring  war. 

That  this  was  really  the  point  in  dispute  between  our  two 
parties  is  shown  in  the  debates,  newspapers,  and  pamphlets  of  the 
lime.  The  Federalists,  as  Mr.  Clay  observed  in  one  of  his 
speeches,  compared  Napoleon  to  "  every  monster  and  beast,  from 
that  mentioned  in  the  Revelation  down  to  the  most  insignificant 
quadruped."  The  Republicans,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  of  hire 
always  with  moderation  and  decency,  sometimes  with  commenda 


HENRY   CLAY  23 

ion,  and  occasionally  he  was  toasted  at  heir  public  dinners  with 
enthusiasm.  Mr.  Clay  himself,  while  lamenting  his  enormous 
power  and  the  suspension  of  "ancient  nationalities,  always  had  a 
lurking  sympathy  with  him.  "  Bonaparte,"  said  he  in  his  great 
war  speech  of  1813,  "has  been  called  the  scourge  of  mankind, 
the  destroyer  of  Europe,  the  great  robber,  the  infidel,  the  modern 
Attila,  and  Heaven  knows  by  what  other  names.  Really,  gentle- 
men remind  me  of  an  obscure  lady,  in  a  city  not  very  far  off,  who 
also  took  it  into  her  head,  in  conversation  with  an  accomplished 
French  gentleman,  to  talk  of  the  affairs  of  Europe.  She,  too, 
spoke  of  the  destruction  of  the  balance  of  power ;  stormed  and 
raged  about  the  insatiable  ambition  of  the  Emperor ;  called  him 
the  curse  of  mankind,  the  destroyei  of  Europe.  The  French- 
man listened  to  her  with  perfect  patience,  and  when  she  had 
ceased  said  to  her,  with  ineffable  politeness,  '  Madam,  it  would 
give  my  master,  the  Emperor,  infinite  pain  if  he  knew  how  hard- 
ly you  thought  of  him.' "  This  brief  passage  suffices  to  show 
the  prevailing  tone  of  the  two  parties  when  Napoleon  was  the 
theme  of  discourse. 

It  is,  of  course,  impossible  for  us  to  enter  into  this  question  of 
Napoleon's  moral  position.  Intelligent  opinion,  ever  since  the 
means  of  forming  an  opinion  were  accessible,  has  been  constantly 
judging  Napoleon  more  leniently,  and  the  Tory  party  more 
severely.  We  can  only  say,  that,  in  our  opinion,  the  war  of  1812 
was  just  and  necessary  ;  and  that  Henry  Clay,  both  in  supporting 
Mr.  Jefferson's  policy  of  non -intercourse  and  in  supporting  Pres- 
ident Madison's  policy  of  war,  deserved  well  of  his  country. 
Postponed  that  war  might  have  been.  But,  human  nature  being 
what  it  is,  and  the  English  government  being  what  it  was,  we  do 
not  believe  that  the  United  States  could  ever  have  been  distinctly 
recognized  as  one  of  the  powers  of  the  earth  without  another 
fight  for  it. 

The  war  being  ended  and  the  Federal  party  extinct,  upon  the 
young  Republicans,  who  had  carried  on  the  war,  devolved  the 
task  of  "  reconstruction."  Before  they  had  made  much  pro* 
gress  in  it,  they  came  within  an  ace  of  being  consigned  to  pri- 
vate life,  —  Clay  himself  having  as  narrow  an  escape  aa  any 
of  them. 


24  HENEY   CLAY. 

And  here  we  may  note  one  point  of  superiority  of  the  Ameri- 
can government  over  others.  In  other  countries  it  can  some- 
times be  the  interest  of  politicians  to  foment  and  declare  war. 
A  war  strengthens  a  tottering  dynasty,  an  imperial  parvenu,  an 
odious  tyrant,  a  feeble  ministry ;  and  the  glory  won  in  battle  on 
land  and  sea  redounds  to  the  credit  of  government,  without 
raising  up  competitors  for  its  high  places.  But  let  American 
politicians  take  note.  It  is  never  their  interest  to  bring  on  a 
war ;  because  a  war  is  certain  to  generate  a  host  of  popular 
heroes  to  outshine  them  and  push  them  from  their  places.  It 
may  sometimes  be  their  duty  to  advocate  war,  but  it  is  never 
their  interest.  At  this  moment  we  see  both  parties  striving 
which  shall  present  to  the  people  the  most  attractive  list  of  mil- 
itary candidates  ;  and  when  a  busy  ward  politician  seeks  his 
reward  in  custom-house  or  department,  he  finds  a  dozen  lame 
soldiers  competing  for  the  place  ;  one  of  whom  gets  it,  —  as  he 
ought.  What  city  has  presented  Mr.  Stanton  with  a  house,  or 
Mr.  Welles  with  fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  government 
bonds  ?  Calhoun  precipitated  the  country  into  a  war  with  Mex- 
ico ;  but  what  did  he  gain  by  it  but  new  bitterness  of  disap- 
pointment, while  the  winner  of  three  little  battles  was  elected 
President?  Henry  Clay  was  the  animating  soul  of  the  war 
of  1812,  and  we  honor  him  for  it;  but  while  Jackson,  Brown, 
Scott,  Perry,  and  Decatur  came  out  of  that  war  the  idols  of  the 
nation,  Clay  was  promptly  notified  that  his  footing  in  the  public 
councils,  his  hold  of  the  public  favor,  was  by  no  means  stable. 

His  offence  was  that  he  voted  for  the  compensation  bill  of  1816, 
which  merely  changed  the  pay  of  members  of  Congress  from 
the  pittance  of  six  dollars  a  day  to  the  pittance  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year.  He  who  before  was  lord  paramount 
in  Kentucky  saved  his  seat  only  by  prodigious  efforts  on  the 
stump,  and  by  exerting  all  the  magic  of  his  presence  in  the 
canvass. 

No  one  ever  bore  cutting  disappointment  with  an  airier  grace 
than  this  high-spirited  thorough-bred ;  but  he  evidently  felt  this 
apparent  injustice.  Some  years  later,  when  it  was  propose'' 
in  Congress  to  pension  Commodore  Perry's  mother,  Mr.  Claj 


HENRY   CLAY.  25 

hi  a  speech  of  five  minutes,  totally  extinguished  the  proposi- 
tion. Pointing  to  the  vast  rewards  bestowed  upon  such  success- 
ful soldiers  as  Marlborough,  Napoleon,  and  Wellington,  he  said, 
with  thrilling  effect :  "  How  different  is  the  fate  of  the  states- 
man !  In  his  quiet  and  less  brilliant  career,  after  having  ad- 
vanced^  by  the  wisdom  of  his  measures,  the  national  prosperity 
to  the  highest  point  of  elevation,  and  after  having  sacrificed 
his  fortune,  his  time,  and  perhaps  his  health,  in  the  public  ser- 
vice, what,  too  often,  are  the  rewards  that  await  him  ?  Who 
thinks  of  his  family,  impoverished  by  the  devotion  of  his  atten- 
tion to  his  country,  instead  of  their  advancement  ?  Who  pro- 
poses to  pension  him,  —  much  less  his  mother  ?  "  He  spoke  the 
more  feelingly,  because  he,  who  could  have  earned  more  than 
the  President's  income  by  the  practice  of  his  profession,  was 
often  pinched  for  money,  and  was  once  obliged  to  leave  Congress 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  taking  care  of  his  shattered  fortune. 
He  felt  the  importance  of  this  subject  in  a  national  point  of  view. 
He  wrote  in  1817  to  a  friend:  "  Short  as  has  been  my  service 
in  the  public  councils,  I  have  seen  some  of  the  most  valuable 
members  quitting  the  body  from  their  inability  to  sustain  the 
weight  of  these  sacrifices.  And  in  process  of  time,  I  appre- 
hend, this  mischief  will  be  more  and  more  felt.  Even  now 
there  are  few,  if  any,  instances  of  members  dedicating  their 
lives  to  the  duties  of  legislation.  Members  stay  a  year  or  two  ; 
curiosity  is  satisfied;  the  novelty  wears  off;  expensive  habits 
are  brought  or  acquired  ;  their  affairs  at  home  are  neglected  ; 
their  fortunes  are  wasting  away  ;  and  they  are  compelled  to 
retire." 

The  eight  years  of  Mr.  Monroe's  administration  — from  1817 
to  1825  —  were  the  most  brilliant  period  of  Henry  Clay's  ca- 
reer. His  position  as  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives 
would  naturally  have  excluded  him  from  leadership ;  but  the 
House  was  as  fond  of  hearing  him  speak  as  he  could  be  of  speak- 
ing, and  opportunities  were  continually  furnished  him  by  going 
into  Committee  of  the  Whole.  In  a  certain  sense  he  was  in  op- 
position to  the  administration.  When  one  party  has  so  frequent- 
ly and  decidedly  beaten  the  party  opposed  to  it,  that  the  defeated 


26  HENRY  CLAY. 

party  goes  out  of  existence,  the  conquering  party  soon  divides. 
The  triumphant  Republicans  of  1816  obeyed  this  law  of  their 
position  ;  —  one  wing  of  the  party,  under  Mr.  Monroe,  being  re- 
luctant to  depart  from  the  old  Jeffersonian  policy ;  the  other 
wing,  under  Henry  Clay,  being  inclined  to  go  very  far  in  internal 
improvements  and  a  protective  tariff.  Mr.  Clay  now  appears  as 
the  great  champion  of  what  he  proudly  styled  the  American  Sys- 
tem. He  departed  farther  and  farther  from  the  simple  doctrines 
of  the  earlier  Democrats.  Before  the  war,  he  had  opposed  a 
national  bank ;  now  he  advocated  the  establishment  of  one,  and 
handsomely  acknowledged  the  change  of  opinion.  Before  the 
war,  he  proposed  only  such  a  tariff  as  would  render  America  in- 
dependent of  foreign  nations  in  articles  of  the  first  necessity ; 
now  he  contemplated  the  establishment  of  a  great  manufacturing 
system,  which  should  attract  from  Europe  skilful  workmen,  and 
supply  the  people  with  everything  they  consumed,  even  to  jewel- 
ry and  silver-ware.  Such  success  had  he  with  his  American 
System,  that,  before  many  years  rolled  away,  we  see  the  rival 
wings  of  the  Republican  party  striving  which  could  concede  most 
to  the  manufacturers  in  the  way  of  an  increased  tariff.  Every 
four  years,  when  a  President  was  to  be  elected,  there  was  an  inev- 
itable revision  of  the  tariff,  each  faction  outbidding  the  other  in 
conciliating  the  manufacturing  interest ;  until  at  length  the  near 
discharge  of  the  national  debt  suddenly  threw  into  politics  a 
prospective  surplus,  —  one  of  twelve  millions  a  year,  —  which 
came  near  crushing  the  American  System,  and  gave  Mr.  Calhoun 
his  pretext  for  nullification. 

At  present,  with  such  a  debt  as  we  have,  the  tariff  is  no  longer 
a  question  with  us.  The  government  must  have  its  million  a  day ; 
and  as  no  tax  is  less  offensive  to  the  people  than  a  duty  on  im- 
ported commodities,  we  seem  compelled  to  a  practically  protective 
system  for  many  years  to  come.  But,  of  all  men,  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States  should  be  the  very  last  to  accept  the  protective 
system  as  final ;  for  when  he  looks  abroad  over  the  great  assem- 
blage of  sovereignties  which  he  calls  the  United  States,  and  aska 
himself  the  reason  of  their  rapid  and  uniform  prosperity  for  the 
last  eighty  years,  what  answer  can  he  give  but  this  ?  —  There  it 


HENRY   CLAY.  27 

free  trade  among  them.  And  if  he  extends  his  survey  f»ver  the 
whole  earth,  he  can  scarcely  avoid  the  conclusion  that  free  trade 
among  all  nations  would  be  as  advantageous  to  all  nations  as  it  is 
to  the  thirty-seven  States  of  the  American  Union.  But  nations  are 
not  governed  by  theories  and  theorists,  but  by  circumstances  and 
politicians.  The  most  perfect  theory  must  sometimes  give  way  to 
exceptional  fact.  We  find,  accordingly,  Mr.  Mill,  the  great 
English  champion  of  free  trade,  fully  sustaining  Henry  Clay's 
moderate  tariff  of  1816,  but  sustaining  it  only  as  a  temporary 
measure.  The  paragraph  of  .Mr.  Mill's  Political  Economy  which 
touches  this  subject  seems  to  us  to  express  so  exactly  the  true 
policy  of  the  United  States  with  regard  to  the  tariff,  that  we  will 
take  the  liberty  of  quoting  it. 

"  The  only  case  in  which,  on  mere  principles  of  political  economy, 
protecting  duties  can  be  defensible,  is  when  they  are  imposed  tempora- 
rily, (especially  in  a  young  and  rising  nation,)  in  hopes  of  naturalizing 
a  foreign  industry,  in  itself  perfectly  suitable  to  the  circumstances  of 
the  country.  The  superiority  of  one  country  over  another  in  a  branch 
of  production  often  arises  only  from  having  begun  it  sooner.  There 
may  be  no  inherent  advantage  on  one  part,  or  disadvantage  on  the 
other,  but  only  a  present  superiority  of  acquired  skill  and  experience. 
A  country  which  has  this  skill  and  experience  yet  to  acquire  may,  in 
other  respects,  be  better  adapted  to  the  production  than  those  which 
were  earlier  in  the  field ;  and,  besides,  it  is  a  just  remark  of  Mr.  Rae, 
that  nothing  has  a  greater  tendency  to  promote  improvement  in  any 
branch  of  production,  than  its  trial  under  a  new  set  of  conditions. 
But  it  cannot  be  expected  that  individuals  should,  at  their  own  risk,  or 
rather  to  their  certain  loss,  introduce  a  new  manufacture,  and  bear  the 
burden  of  carrying  it  on,  until  the  producers  have  been  educated  up 
to  the  level  of  those  with  whom  the  processes  are  traditional.  A  pro- 
tecting duty,  continued  for  a  reasonable  time,  will  sometimes  be  the 
least  inconvenient  mode  in  which  the  nation  can  tax  itself  for  the  sup- 
port of  such  an  experiment.  But  the  protection  should  be  confined  to 
cases  in  which  there  is  good  ground  of  assurance  that  the  industry 
which  it  fosters  will  after  a  time  be  able  to  dispense  with  it ;  nor 
should  the  domestic  producers  ever  be  allowed  to  expect  that  it  will  be 
continued  to  them  beyond  the  time  necessary  for  a  fair  trial  of  what 
they  are  capable  of  accomplishing."  * 

*  Mill's  Principles  of  Political  Economy,  Book  V.  Ch.  X.  i  1. 


28  HENRY   CLAY. 

In  the  quiet  of  his  library  at  Ashland,  Mr.  Clay,  we  believe, 
would,  at  any  period  of  his  public  life,  have  assented  to  the  doc- 
trines of  this  passage.  But  at  Washington  he  was  a  party  leader 
and  an  orator.  Having  set  the  ball  in  motion,  he  could  not  stop 
it ;  nor  does  he  appear  to  have  felt  the  necessity  cf  stopping  it, 
until,  in  1831,  he  was  suddenly  confronted  by  three  Gorgons  at 
once,  — la  coming  Surplus,  a  President  that  vetoed  internal  im- 
provements, and  an  ambitious  Calhoun,  resolved  on  using  the 
surplus  either  as  a  stepping-stone  to  the  Presidency  or  a  wedge 
with  which  to  split  the  Union./  The  time  to  have  put  down  the 
brakes  was  in  1828,  when  the  national  debt  was  within  seven 
years  of  being  paid  off;  but  precisely  then  it  was  that  both  divi- 
sions of  the  Democratic  party — one  under  Mr.  Van  Buren,  the 
other  under  Mr.  Clay  —  were  running  a  kind  of  tariff  race,  neck 
and  neck,  in  which  Van  Buren  won.  Mr.  Clay,  it  is  true,  was 
not  in  Congress  then,  —  he  was  Secretary  of  State  ;  but  he  was 
the  soul  of  his  party,  and  his  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  master. 
In  all  his  letters  and  speeches  there  is  not  a  word  to  show  that  he 
then  anticipated  the  surplus,  or  the  embarrassments  to  which  it 
gave  rise  ;  though  he  could  not  have  forgotten  that  a  very  trifling 
surplus  was  one  of  the  chief  anxieties  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  admin- 
istration. Mr.  Clay's  error,  we  think,  arose  from  his  not  per- 
ceiving clearly  that  a  protective  tariff,  though  justifiable  some- 
times, is  always  in  itself  an  evil,  and  is  never  to  be  accepted  as 
the  permanent  policy  of  any  country;  and  that,  being  an  evil,  it 
must  be  reduced  to  the  minimum  that  will  answer  the  temporary 
purpose. 

In  estimating  Henry  Clay,  we  are  always  to  remember  that  he 
was  an  orator.  He  had  a  genius  for  oratory.  There  is,  we  be- 
lieve, no  example  of  a  man  endowed  with  a  genius  for  oratory  who 
also  possessed  an  understanding  of  the  first  order.  Mr.  Clay's 
oratory  was  vivified  by  a  good  heart  and  a  genuine  love  of  coun- 
try ;  and  on  occasions  which  required  only  a  good  heart,  patriotic 
feeling,  and  an  eloquent  tongue,  he  served  his  country  well.  But 
as  a  party  leader  he  had  sometimes  to  deal  with  matters  which 
demanded  a  radical  and  far-seeing  intellect;  and  then,  perhaps, 
he  failed  to  guide  his  followers  aright.  At  Washington,  during 


HENRY   CLAY.  29 

»,he  thirteen  years  of  his  Speakership,  he  led  the  gay  life  of  a 
popular  hero  and  drawing-room  favorite;  and  his  position  was 
supposed  to  compel  him  to  entertain  much  company.  As  a  young 
lawyer  in  Kentucky,  he  was  addicted  to  playing  those  games  of 
mere  chance  which  alone  at  that  day  were  styled  gambling.  He 
played  high  and  often,  as  was  the  custom  then  all  over  the  world. 
It  was  his  boast,  even  in  those  wild  days,  that  he  never  played  at 
home,  and  never  had  a  pack  of  cards  in  his  house  ;  but  when  the 
lawyers  and  judges  were  assembled  during  court  sessions,  there 
was  much  high  play  among  them  at  the  tavern  after  the  day's 
work  was  done.  In  1806,  when  Mr.  Clay  was  elected  to  the 
Senate,  he  resolved  to  gamble  no  more,  —  that  is,  to  play  at  haz- 
ard and  "  brag  "  no  more,  —  and  he  kept  his  resolution.  Whist, 
being  a  game  depending  partly  on  skill,  was  not  included  in  this 
resolution ;  and  whist  was  thenceforth  a  very  favorite  game  with 
him,  and  he  greatly  excelled  in  it.  It  was  said  of  him,  as  it  was 
of  Charles  James  Fox,  that,  at  any  moment  of  a  hand,  he  could 
name  all  the  cards  that  remained  to  be  played.  He  discounte- 
nanced high  stakes ;  and  we  believe  he  never,  after  1806,  played 
for  more  than  five  dollars  "  a  corner."  These,  we  know,  were  the 
stakes  at  Ghent,  where  he  played  whist  for  many  months  with 
the  British  Commissioners  during  the  negotiations  for  peace  in 
1815.  We  mention  his  whist-playing  only  as  part  of  the  evi- 
dence that  he  was  a  gay,  pleasant,  easy  man  of  the  world,  —  not 
a  student,  not  a  thinker,  not  a  philosopher.  Often,  in  reading 
over  his  speeches  of  this  period,  we  are  ready  to  exclaim,  "  Ah  ! 
Mr.  Clay,  if  you  had  played  whist  a  little  less,  and  studied  history 
and  statesmanship  a  great  deal  more,  you  would  have  avoided 
some  errors !  "  A  trifling  anecdote  related  by  Mr.  Colton  lets  us 
into  the  Speakers  way  of  life.  "  How  can  you  preside  over  that 
House  to-day  ?  "  asked  a  friend,  as  he  set  Mr.  Clay  down  at  his 
own  door,  after  sunrise,  from  a  party.  "  Come  up,  and  you  shall 
see  how  I  will  throw  the  reins  over  their  necks,"  replied  the 
Speaker,  as  he  stepped  from  the  carriage.* 

*  Daniel  Webster  once  said  of  him  in  conversation  :  "  Mr.  Clay  is  a  great 
man  ;  beyond  all  question  a  true  patriot.  He  has  done  much  for  his  country. 
He  ought  long  ago  to  have  been  elected  President.  I  think,  however,  he  wat 


'0  HENRY  CLAY. 

But  when  noble  feeling  and  a  gifted  tongue  sufficed  for  the 
occasion,  how  grandly  sometimes  he  acquitted  himself  in  those 
brilliant  years,  when,  descending  from  the  Speaker's  lofty  seat, 
he  held  the  House  and  the  crowded  galleries  spellbound  by  his 
magnificent  oratory  !  His  speech  of  1818,  for  example,  favoring 
the  recognition  of  the  South  American  republics,  was  almost  as 
wise  as  it  was  eloquent ;  for,  although  the  provinces  of  South 
America  are  still  far  from  being  what  we  could  wish  them  to  be, 
yet  it  is  certain  that  no  single  step  of  progress  was  possible  for 
them  until  their  connection  with  Spain  was  severed.  Cuba,  to- 
day, proves  Mr.  Clay's  position.  The  amiable  and  intelligent 
Creoles  of  that  beautiful  island  are  nearly  ready  for  the  abolition 
of  slavery  and  for  regulated  freedom ;  but  they  lie  langnishmg 
under  the  hated  incubus  of  Spanish  rule,  and  dare  not  risk  a  war 
of  independence,  outnumbered  as  they  are  by  untamed  or  half- 
tamed  Africans.  Mr.  Clay's  speeches  in  behalf  of  the  young 
republics  of  South  America  were  read  by  Bolivar  at  the  h^ad  of 
his  troops,  and  justly  rendered  his  name  dear  to  the  struggling 
patriots.  He  had  a  clear  conviction,  like  his  master,  Thomas 
Jefferson,  that  the  interests  of  the  United  States  lie  chiefly  in 
America,  not  Europe  ;  and  it  was  a  favorite  dream  of  his  to  see 
the  "Western  Continent  occupied  by  flourishing  republics  inde- 
pendent, but  closely  allied,  —  a  genuine  Holy  Alliance. 

The  supreme  effort  of  Mr.  Clay's  Congressional  life  was  in 
connection  with  the  Missouri  Compromise  of  1821.  He  did  not 
originate  the  plan  of  compromise,  but  it  was  certainly  his  influ- 
ence and  tact  which  caused  the  plan  to  prevail.  Fortunately, 
he  had  been  absent  from  Congress  during  some  of  the  earlier 

never  a  man  of  books,  a  hard  student;  but  he  has  displayed  remarkable 
genius.  I  never  could  imagine  him  sitting  comfortably  in  his  library,  and  read- 
ing quietly  out  of  the  great  books  of  the  past.  He  has  been  too  fond  of  the 
world  to  enjoy  anything  like  that.  He  has  been  too  fond  of  excitement,  —  he 
has  lived  upon  it;  he  has  been  too  fond  of  company,  not  enough  alone;  and  has 
had  few  resources  within  himself.  Now  a  man  who  cannot,  to  some  extent, 
depend  upon  himself  for  happiness,  is  to  my  mind  one  of  the  unfortunate.  But 
Clay  is  a  great  man ;  and  if  he  ever  had  animosities  against  me,  I  forgive  him 
und  forget  them." 

These  words  were  uttered  at  Marshfield  when  the  news  reached  there  tbatAI» 
Clay  was  dying. 


HENRY  CLAY.  31 

attempts  to  admit  Missouri ;  and  thus  he  arrived  in  Washington 
in  January,  1821,  calm,  uncommitted,  and  welcome  to  both  par- 
ties. Fierce  debate  had  wrought  up  the  minds  of  members  to 
that  point  where  useful  discussion  ceases  to  be  possible.  Almost 
every  man  had  given  personal  offence  and  taken  personal  offence ; 
the  two  sides  seemed  reduced  to  the  most  hopeless  incompatibil- 
ity ;  and  the  affair  was  at  a  dead  lock.  No  matter  what  the  sub- 
ject of  debate,  Missouri  was  sure,  in  some  way,  to  get  involved 
in  it ;  and  the  mere  mention  of  the  name  was  like  a  spark  upon 
loose  gunpowder.  In  February,  for  example,  the  House  had  to 
go  through  the  ceremony  of  counting  the  votes  for  President  of 
the  United  States,  —  a  mere  ceremony,  since  Mr.  Monroe  had 
been  re-elected  almost  unanimously,  and  the  votes  of  Missouri 
were  of  no  importance.  The  tellers,  to  avoid  giving  cause  of 
contention,  announced  that  Mr.  Monroe  had  received  two  hun- 
dred and  thirty-one  votes,  including  those  of  Missouri,  and  two 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  if  they  were  excluded.  At  this  an- 
nouncement members  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  such  a  scene  of 
confusion  arose  that  no  man  could  make  himself  heard.  After  a 
fong  struggle  with  the  riot,  the  Speaker  declared  the  House  ad- 
journed. 

For  six  weeks  Mr.  Clay  exerted  his  eloquence,  his  arts  of 
pacification,  and  all  the  might  of  his  personality,  to  bring  mem- 
bers to  their  senses.  He  even  had  a  long  conference  with  his 
ancient  foe,  John  Randolph.  He  threw  himself  into  this  work 
with  such  ardor,  and  labored  at  it  so  continuously,  day  and 
night,  that,  when  the  final  triumph  was  won,  he  declared  that, 
if  Missouri  had  been  kept  out  of  the  Union  two  weeks  longer, 
he  should  have  been  a  dead  man.  Thirty-four  years  after  these 
events  Mr.  S.  G.  Goodrich  wrote :  "  I  was  in  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives but  a  single  hour.  While  I  was  present  there  was 
no  direct  discussion  of  the  agitating  subject  which  already  filled 
everybody's  mind,  but  still  the  excitement  flared  out  occasionally 
in  incidental  allusions  to  it,  like  puffs  of  smoke  and  jets  of  flame 
which  issue  from  a  house  that  is  on  fire  within.  I  recollect  that 
Clay  made  a  brief  speech,  thrilling  the  House  by  a  single  pas- 
sage, in  which  he  spoke  of ' poor,  unheard  Missouri,'  she  being 


02  HENRY   CLAY. 

then  without  a  representative  in  Congress.  His  tall,  tossing 
form,  his  long,  sweeping  gestures,  and,  above  all,  hia  musical  yet 
thrilling  tones,  made  an  impression  upon  me  which  I  can  never 
forget." 

Mr.  Clay,  at  length,  had  completed  his  preparations.  He 
moved  for  a  committee  of  the  House  to  confer  with  a  committee 
of  the  Senate.  He  himself  wrote  out  the  list  of  members  whom 
he  desired  should  be  elected,  and  they  were  elected.  At  the  last 
conference  of  the  joint  committees,  which  was  held  on  a  Sunday, 
Mr.  Clay  insisted  that  their  report,  to  have  the  requisite  effect 
upon  Congress  and  the  country,  must  be  unanimous ;  and  unan- 
imous it  was.  Both  Houses,  with  a  surprising  approach  to 
unanimity,  adopted  the  compromise  proposed ;  and  thus  was 
again  postponed  the  bloody  arbitrament  to  which  the  irrepres- 
sible controversy  has  since  been  submitted. 

Clay's  masterly  conduct  on  this  occasion  added  his  name  to 
the  long  list  of  gentlemen  who  were  mentioned  for  the  succes- 
sion to  Mr.  Monroe  in  1825.  If  the  city  of  Washington  had 
been  the  United  States,  if  the  House  of  Representatives  had 
possessed  the  right  to  elect  a  President,  Henry  Clay  might  have 
been  its  choice.  During  the  thirteen  years  of  his  Speakership 
not  one  of  his  decisions  had  been  reversed  ;  and  he  had  presided 
over  the  turbulent  and  restive  House  with  that  perfect  blending 
of  courtesy  and  firmness  which  at  once  restrains  and  charms. 
The  debates  just  before  the  war,  during  the  war,  and  after  the 
war,  had  been  violent  and  acrimonious  ;  but  he  had  kept  his  own 
temper,  and  compelled  the  House  to  observe  an  approach  to  de- 
corum. On  one  occasion  he  came  into  such  sharp  collision  with  the 
excitable  Randolph,  that  the  dispute  was  transferred  to  the  news- 
papers, and  narrowly  escaped  degenerating  from  a  war  of  "cards" 
to  a  conflict  with  pistols.  But  the  Speaker  triumphed  ;  the 
House  and  the  country  sustained  him.  On  occasions  of  cere- 
mony the  Speaker  enchanted  every  beholder  by  the  superb  dig- 
nity of  his  bearing,  the  fitness  of  his  words,  and  the  tranquil 
depth  of  his  tones.  What  could  be  more  eloquent,  more  appro- 
priate, than  the  Speaker's  address  of  welcome  to  Lafayette,  when 
the  guest  of  the  nation  was  conducted  to  the  floor  of  the  House 


HENRY   CLAY.  38 

of  Representatives  ?  The  House  and  the  galleries  were  proud 
of  the  Speaker  that  day.  No  one  who  never  heard  this  captiva- 
tor  of  hearts  can  form  the  slightest  conception  of  the  penetrating 
effect  of  the  closing  sentences,  though  they  were  spoken  only  in 
the  tone  of  conversation. 

"  The  vain  wish  has  been  sometimes  indulged,  that  Providence 
would  allow  the  patriot,  after  death,  to  return  to  his  country,  and  to 
contemplate  the  intermediate  changes  which  had  taken  place  ;  to  view 
the  forests  felled,  the  cities  built,  the  mountains  levelled,  the  canals 
cut,  the  highways  constructed,  the  progress  of  the  arts,  the  advance- 
ment of  learning,  and  the  increase  of  population.  General,  your  pres- 
ent visit  to  the  United  States  is  a  realization  of  the  consoling  object  of 
that  wish.  You  are  in  the  midst  of  posterity.  Everywhere  you  must 
have  been  struck  with  the  great  changes,  physical  and  moral,  which 
have  occurred  since  you  left  us.  Even  this  very  city,  bearing  a  vener- 
ated name,  alike  endeared  to  you  and  to  us,  has  since  emerged  from 
the  forest  which  then  covered  its  site.  In  one  respect  you  behold  ua 
unaltered,  and  this  is  in  the  sentiment  of  continued  devotion  to  liberty, 
and  of  ardent  affection  and  profound  gratitude  to  your  departed  friend, 
the  father  of  his  country,  and  to  you,  and  to  your  illustrious  associates 
in  the  field  and  in  the  cabinet,  for  the  multiplied  blessings  which  sur- 
round us,  and  for  the  very  privilege  of  addressing  you  which  I  now 
exercise.  This  sentiment,  now  fondly  cherished  by  more  than  ten 
millions  of  people,  will  be  transmitted  with  unabated  vigor  down  the 
tide  of  time,  through  the  countless  millions  who  are  destined  to  inhabit 
this  continent,  to  the  latest  posterity." 

The  appropriateness  of  these  sentiments  to  the  occasion  and 
to  the  man  is  evident  to  every  one  who  remembers  that  Lafay- 
ette's love  of  George  Washington  was  a  Frenchman's  romantic 
passion.  Nor,  indeed,  did  he  need  to  have  a  sensitive  French 
heart  to  be  moved  to  tears  by  such  words  and  such  a  welcome. 

From  1822  to  1848,  a  period  of  twenty-six  years,  Henry  Clay 
lived  the  strange  life  of  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency.  It  was 
enough  to  ruin  any  man,  body  and  sou\.  To  live  always  in  the 
gaze  of  millions  ;  to  be  the  object  of  eulogy  the  most  extrava- 
gant and  incessant  from  one  half  of  the  newspapers,  and  of  vitu- 
peration still  more  preposterous  from  the  other  half ;  to  be  stir 
rounded  by  flatterers  interested  and  disinterested,  and  to  be 
2*  o 


24  HENBY  CLAT. 


by  another  body  intent  on  misrei>resenting  every 
get  and  word ;  to  have  to  stop  and  consider  the  effect  of  every 
•tteraoee,  public  and  private,  upon  the  next  "  campaign  " ;  not 
to  be  able  to  stir  abroad  without  having  to  harangue  a  depu- 
tation of  political  friends,  and  stand  to  be  kissed  by  ladies  and 
pump-handled  by  men,  and  hide  the  enormous  bore  of  it  beneath 
a  fixed  smile  till  the  very  muscles  of  the  face  are  rigid  ;  to  receive 
by  every  mail  letter*  enough  for  a  large  town  ;  to  have  your  life 
written  several  times  a  year ;  to  be  obliged  continually  to  refute 
and  "  define  your  position "  ;  to  live  under  a  horrid 
to  be  pointedly  civil  to  all  the  world  ;  to  find  your  most 
remarks  and  most  private  conversations  getting  distorted 
in  print,  —  this,  and  more  than  this,  it  was  to  be  a  candidate  for 
the  Presidency.  The  most  wonderful  thing  that  we  have  to  say 
of  Henry  Clay  is,  that,  such  were  his  native  sincerity  and  health- 
fulness  of  mind,  be  came  out  of  this  fiery  trial  still  a  patriot  and 
ft  man  of  honor.  We  believe  it  was  a  weakness  in  him,  as  it  i-  m 
UKJ  man,  to  set  his  heart  upon  living  four  years  in  the  White 
House ;  but  we  can  most  confidently  say,  that,  having  entered  the 
game,  he  played  it  fairly,  and  bore  his  repeated  disappointments 
with  genuine,  high-bred  composure.  The  closest  scrutiny  into  the 
life  of  this  man  still  permits  us  to  believe  that,  when  he  said,  "  I 
•  would  rather  be  right  than  be  President,"  he  spoke  the  real  senti- 
ments of  ms  heart ;  and  that,  when  he  said  to  one  of  his  political 
opponents,  "  Tell  General  Jack-son  that,  if  he  will  sign  my  Land 
Bill,  I  will  pledge  myself  to  retire  from  public  life  and  never  to 
re-enter  it,"  he  meant  what  he  said,  and  would  have  stood  to  it. 
It  i»  oar  privilege  to  believe  this  of  Henry  Clay ;  nor  do  we 
think  that  there  was  ever  anything  morbidly  excessive  in  his 
desire  for  the  Presidency.  He  was  the  head  and  choice  of  a 
great  political  party ;  in  the  principles  of  that  party  he  fully 
believed ;  and  we  think  he  did  truly  desire  an  election  to  the 
Presidency  more  from  conviction  than  ambition.  This  may  not 
have  been  the  case  in  1824,  but  we  believe  it  was  in  1832  and 
in  1844. 

The  history  of  Henry  Clay's  Presidential  aspirations  and  de- 
is  little  mere  than  the  history  of  a  personal  fend.     Tn  tin 


HENRY   CLAY.  35 

year  1$19,  it  was  his  fortune  to  incur  the  hatred  of  the  best 
hater  then  living,  —  Andrew  Jackson.  They  met  for  the  first 
time  in  November,  1815,  when  the  hero  of  New  Orleans  came 
to  Washington  to  consult  with  the  administration  respecting  the 
Indian  and  military  affairs  of  his  department.  Each  of  these 
eminent  men  truly  admired  the  other.  Jackson  saw  in  Clay  the 
civil  hero  of  the  war,  whose  fiery  eloquence  had  powerfully 
seconded  its  military  heroes.  Clay  beheld  in  Jackson  the  man 
whose  gallantry  and  skill  had  done  most  to  justify  the  war  in  the 
sight  of  the  people.  They  became  immediately  and  cordially  in- 
timate. Jackson  engaged  to  visit  Ashland  in  the  course  of  the 
next  summer,  and  spend  a  week  there.  On  every  occasion  when 
Mr.  Clay  spoke  of  the  heroes  of  the  war,  he  bestowed  on  Jackson 
the  warmest  praise. 

In  1818  General  Jackson  invaded  Florida,  put  to  death  two 
Indian  chiefs  in  cold  blood,  and  executed  two  British  subjects, 
Arbuthnot  and  Armbrister.*  During  the  twenty-seven  days' 
debate  upon  these  proceedings,  in  1819,  the  Speaker  sided  with 
those  who  disapproved  them,  and  he  delivered  a  set  speech 
against  Jackson.  This  speech,  though  it  did  full  justice  to  Gen- 
eral Jackson's  motives,  and  contained  a  fine  eulogium  upon  his 
previous  services,  gave  the  General  deadly  offence.  Such  was 
Jackson's  self-love  that  he  could  not  believe  in  the  honesty  of 
any  opposition  to  him,  but  invariably  attributed  such  opposition 
to  low  personal  motives.  Now  it  was  a  feet  well  known  to  Jack- 
son, that  Henry  Clay  had  expected  the  appointment  of  Secretary 
of  State  under  Mr.  Monroe ;  and  it  was  part  of  the  gossip  of  the 
time  that  Mr.  Monroe's  preference  of  Mr.  Adams  was  the  reason 
of  Clay's  occasional  opposition  to  measures  favored  by  the  ad- 
ministration. We  do  not  believe  this,  because  the  measures 
which  Mr.  Clay  opposed  were  such  as  he  mttst  have  disapproved, 
and  which  well-in  formed  posterity  will  forever  disapprove.  Af- 
ter much  debate  in  the  Cabinet,  Mr.  Monroe,  who  was  peculiarly 
bound  to  Jackson,  and  who  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  not  offend- 
ing him,  determined  to  sustain  him  in  iota  both  at  home  and  in 

•  This  is  the  correct  spelling  of  the  name,  as  we  learn  from  a  living  relative 
cf  the  unfortunate  man.  It  has  been  hitherto  spelled  Ambrister. 


36  HENRY  CLAY. 

the  courts  of  Spain  and  England.  Hence,  in  condemning  Gen- 
eral Jackson,  Mr.  Clay  was  again  in  opposition  to  the  adminis- 
tration ;  and  the  General  of  course  concluded,  that  the  Speaker 
designed,  in  ruining  him,  merely  to  further  his  own  political 
schemes.  How  he  boiled  with  fury  against  Mr.  Clay,  his  pub- 
lished letters  amusingly  attest.  "  The  hypocrisy  and  baseness  of 
Clay,"  wrote  the  General,  "  in  pretending  friendship  to  me,  and 
endeavoring  to  crush  the  Executive  through  me,  makes  me  de- 
spise the  villain." 

Jackson,  as  we  all  know,  was  triumphantly  sustained  by  the 
House.  In  fact,  Mr.  Clay's  speech  was  totally  unworthy  of  the 
occasion.  Instead  of  argument  and  fact,  he  gave  the  House  and 
the  galleries  beautiful  declamation.  The  evidence  was  before 
him ;  he  had  it  in  his  hands ;  but,  instead  of  getting  up  his  case 
with  patient  assiduity,  and  exhibiting  the  damning  proofs  of  Jack- 
son's misconduct,  he  merely  glanced  over  the  mass  of  papers,  fell 
into  some  enormous  blunders,  passed  over  some  most  material 
points,  and  then  endeavored  to  supply  all  deficiencies  by  an  im- 
posing eloquence.  He  even  acknowledges  that  he  had  not  ex- 
amined the  testimony.  "  It  is  possible"  said  he,  "  that  a  critical 
examination  of  the  evidence  would  show  "  that  Arbuthnot  was  an 
innocent  trader.  We  have  had  occasion  to  examine  that  evidence 
since,  and  we  can  testify  that  this  conjecture  was  correct.  But 
why  was  it  a  conjecture  ?  Why  did  Mr.  Clay  neglect  to  convert 
the  conjecture  into  certainty  ?  It  fell  to  him,  as  representing  the 
civilization  and  humanity  of  the  United  States,  to  vindicate  the 
memory  of  an  honorable  old  man,  who  had  done  all  that  was 
possible  to  prevent  the  war,  and  who  had  been  ruthlessly  mur- 
dered by  men  wearing  the  uniform  of  American  soldiers.  It  fell 
to  him  to  bar  the  further  advancement  of  a  man  most  unfit  for 
civil  rule.  To  this  duty  he  was  imperatively  called,  but  he 
only  half  did  it,  and  thus  exasperated  the  tiger  without  disabling 
him. 

Four  years  passed.  In  December,  1823,  General  Jackson  re- 
appeared in  Washington  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Senate,  to  which 
he  had  been  elected  by  his  wire-pullers  for  the  purpose  of  pro- 
moting his  interests  as  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency.  Before 


HENRY  CLAY.  37 

he  left  tome  two  or  three  of  his  friends  had  besought  him  to 
assume  a  mild  and  conciliatory  demeanor  at  the  capitol.  It  would 
never  do,  they  told  him,  for  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency  to 
threaten  to  cut  off  the  ears  of  gentlemen  who  disapproved  his 
public  conduct;  he  must  restrain  himself  and  make  friends. 
This  advice  he  followed.  He  was  reconciled  with  General  Win- 
field  Scott,  whom,  in  1817,  he  had  styled  an  "  assassin,"  a  "  hector- 
ing bully,"  and  an  "  intermeddling  pimp  and  spy  of  the  War  Of- 
fice." He  made  friends  with  Colonel  Thomas  H.  Benton,  with 
whom  he  had  fought  in  the  streets  of  Nashville,  while  he  still 
carried  in  his  body  a  bullet  received  in  that  bloody  affray.  With 
Henry  Clay,  too,  he  resumed  friendly  intercourse,  met  him  twice 
at  dinner-parties,  rode  and  exchanged  visits  with  him,  and  attend- 
ed one  of  the  Speaker's  Congressional  dinners. 

When  next  these  party  chieftains  met,  in  the  spring  of  1825,  it 
was  about  to  devolve  upon  the  House  of  Representatives  to  de- 
cide which  of  three  men  should  be  the  next  President,  —  Jack- 
son, Adams,  or  Crawford.  They  exchanged  visits  as  before  ;  Mr. 
Clay  being  desirous,  as  he  said,  to  show  General  Jackson  that,  in 
the  vote  which  he  had  determined  to  give,  he  was  influenced  only 
by  public  considerations.  No  reader  needs  to  be  informed  that 
Mr.  Clay  and  his  friends  were  able  to  decide  the  election,  and 
that  they  decided  it  in  favor  of  Mr.  Adams.  We  believe  that 
Mr.  Clay  was  wrong  in  so  doing.  As  a  Democrat  he  ought,  we 
think,  to  have  been  willing  to  gratify  the  plurality  of  his  fellow- 
citizens,  who  had  voted  for  General  Jackson.  His  motives  we 
fully  believe  to  have  been  disinterested.  Indeed,  it  was  plainly 
intimated  to  him  that,  if  he  gave  the  Presidency  to  General 
Jackson,  General  Jackson  would  make  him  his  heir  apparent,  or, 
in  other  words,  his  Secretary  of  State. 

The  anger  of  General  Jackson  at  his  disappointment  was  not 
the  blind  and  wild  fury  of  his  earlier  days  ;  it  was  a  deeper,  a 
deadlier  wrath,  which  he  governed  and  concealed  in  order  to 
wreak  a  feller  vengeance.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which 
the  election  in  the  House  occurred  there  was  a  levee  at  the 
Presidential  mansion,  which  General  Jackson  attended.  Who, 
that  saw  him  dart  forward  and  grasp  Mr.  Adams  cordially  by  the 


38  HENRY  CLAY. 

hand,  could  have  supposed  that  he  then  entirely  believed  that 
Mr.  .Adams  had  stolen  the  Presidency  from  him  by  a  corrupt 
bargain  with  Mr.  Clay  ?  Who  could  have  supposed  that  he  and 
his  friends  had  been,  for  fourteen  days,  hatching  a  plot  to  blast 
the  good  name  of  Mr.  Adams  and  Mr.  Clay,  by  spreading  abroad 
the  base  insinuation  that  Clay  had  been  bought  over  to  the  sup- 
port of  Adams  by  the  promise  of  the  first  place  in  the  Cabinet  ? 
Who  could  have  supposed  that,  on  his  way  home  to  Tennessee, 
while  the  newspapers  were  paragraphing  his  magnanimity  in  de- 
feat, as  shown  by  his  behavior  at  the  levee,  he  would  denounce 
Adams  and  Clay,  in  bar-rooms  and  public  places,  as  guilty  of  a 
foul  compact  to  frustrate  the  wishes  of  the  people  ? 

It  was  calumny's  masterpiece.  It  was  a  rare  stroke  of  art  to 
get  an  old  dotard  of  a  member  of  Congress  to  publish,  twelve 
days  before  the  election,  that  Mr.  Clay  had  agreed  to  vote  for  Mr. 
Adams,  and  that  Mr.  Adams  had  agreed  to  reward  him  by  the 
office  of  Secretary  of  State.  When  the  vote  had  been  given  and 
the  office  conferred,  how  plausible,  how  convincing,  the  charge  of 
bargain ! 

It  is  common  to  censure  Mr.  Clay  for  accepting  office  under 
Mr.  Adams.  We  honor  him  for  his  courage  in  doing  so.  Hav- 
ing made  Mr.  Adams  President,  it  had  been  unlike  the  gallant 
Kentuckian  to  shrink  from  the  possible  odium  of  the  act  by  re- 
fusing his  proper  place  in  the  administration.  The  calumny 
which  anticipated  his  acceptance  of  office  was  a  defiance :  Take 
office  if  you  dare!  It  was  simply  worthy  of  Henry  Clay  to  accept 
the  challenge,  and  brave  all  the  consequences  of  what  he  had  de- 
liberately and  conscientiously  done. 

In  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State  Mr.  Clay  exhibited  an  ad- 
mirable talent  for  the  despatch  of  business.  He  negotiated  an 
unusual  number  of  useful  treaties.  He  exerted  himself  to  secure 
a  recognition  of  the  principles,  that,  in  time  of  war,  private 
property  should  enjoy  on  the  ocean  the  same  protection  as  on 
land,  and  that  paper  blockades  are  not  to  be  regarded.  He 
seconded  Mr.  Adams  in  his  determination  not  to  remove  from 
office  any  man  on  account  of  his  previous  or  present  opposition 
to  the  administration ;  and  he  carried  this  policy  so  far,  that,  ID 


HENRY   CLAY.  39 

jelecting  the  newspapers  for  the  publication  of  the  laws,  he  re- 
fused to  consider  their  political  character.  This  was  in  strict 
accordance  with  the  practice  of  all  previous  administrations ;  but 
it  is  so  pleasant  to  recur  to  the  times  when  that  honorable  policy 
prevailed,  that  we  cannot  help  alluding  to  it.  In  his  intercourse 
with  foreign  ministers,  Mr.  Clay  had  an  opportunity  to  display 
all  the  charms  of  an  unequalled  courtesy :  they  remained  his 
friends  long  after  he  had  retired.  His  "Wednesday  dinners  and 
his  pleasant  evening  receptions  were  remembered  for  many  years. 
How  far  he  sympathized  with  Mr.  Adams's  extravagant  dreams 
of  a  system  of  national  works  that  should  rival  the  magnificent 
structures  of  ancient  Rome,  or  with  the  extreme  opinions  of  his 
colleague,  Mr.  Rush,  as  to  the  power  and  importance  of  govern- 
ment, we  do  not  know.  He  worked  twelve  hours  a  day  in  his 
office,  he  tells  us,  and  was  content  therewith.  He  was  the  last 
high  officer  of  the  government  to  fight  a  duel.  That  bloodless 
contest  between  the  Secretary  of  State  and  John  Randolph  was 
as  romantic  and  absurd  as  a  duel  could  well  be.  Colonel  Ben- 
ton's  narrative  of  it  is  at  once  the  most  amusing  and  the  most 
affecting  piece  of  gossip  which  our  political  annals  contain. 
Randolph,  as  the  most  unmanageable  of  members  of  Congress, 
had  been  for  fifteen  years  a  thorn  in  Mr.  Clay's  side,  and  Clay's 
later  politics  had  been  most  exasperating  to  Mr.  Randolph ;  but 
the  two  men  loved  one  another  in  their  hearts,  after  all.  Noth- 
ing has  ever  exceeded  the  thorough-bred  courtesy  and  tender 
consideration  with  which  they  set  about  the  work  of  putting  one 
another  to  death ;  and  their  joy  was  unbounded  when,  after  the 
second  fire,  each  discovered  that  the  other  was  unharmed.  If 
all  duels  could  have  such  a  result,  duelling  would  be  the  prettiest 
thing  in  the  world. 

The  election  of  1828  swept  the  administration  from  power. 
No  man  has  ever  bowed  more  gracefully  to  the  decision  of  the 
people  than  Henry  Clay.  His  remarks  at  the  public  dinner 
given  him  in  "Washington,  on  his  leaving  for  home,  were  entirely 
admirable.  Andrew  Jackson,  he  said,  had  wronged  him,  but  he 
was  now  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  his  country,  and,  as  such,  he 
should  be  treated  with  decorum,  and  his  public  acts  judged  with 


40  HENRY   CLAY. 

candcr.      His  journey  to  Ashland  was  more  like  the  progress  of 
a  victor  than  the  return  homeward  of  a  rejected  statesman. 

He  now  entered  largely  into  his  favorite  branch  of  rural  busi- 
ness, the  raising  of  superior  animals.  Fifty  merino  sheep  were 
driven  over  the  mountains  from  Pennsylvania  to  his  farm,  and 
he  imported  from  England  some  Durham  and  Hertford  cattle. 
He  had  an  Arabian  horse  in  his  stable.  For  the  improvement 
of  the  breed  of  mules,  he  imported  an  ass  from  Malta,  and  an 
other  from  Spain.  Pigs,  goats,  and  dogs  he  also  raised,  and 
endeavored  to  improve.  His  slaves  being  about  fifty  in  number, 
he  was  able  to  carry  on  the  raising  of  hemp  and  corn,  as  well  as 
the  breeding  of  stock,  and  both  on  a  considerable  scale.  Mrs. 
Clay  sent  every  morning  to  the  principal  hotel  of  Lexington 
thirty  gallon's  of  milk,  and  her  husband  had  large  consignments 
to  make  to  his  factor  in  New  Orleans.  His  letters  of  this  period 
show  how  he  delighted  in  his  animals  and  his  growing  crops,  and 
how  thoughtfully  he  considered  the  most  trifling  details  of  man- 
agement. His  health  improved.  He  told  his  old  friend,  Wash- 
ington Irving,  that  he  found  it  was  as  good  for  men  as  for  beasts 
to  be  turned  out  to  grass  occasionally.  Though  not  without 
domestic  afflictions,  he  was  very  happy  in  his  home.  One  of  his 
sons  graduated  second  at  West  Point,  and  two  of  his  daughters 
were  happily  married.  He  was,  perhaps,  a  too  indulgent  father; 
but  his  children  loved  him  most  tenderly,  and  were  guided  by  his 
opinion.  It  is  pleasing  to  read  in  the  letters  of  his  sons  to  him 
such  passages  as  this :  "You  tell  me  that  you  wish  me  to  receive 
your  opinions,  not  as  commands,  but  as  advice.  Yet  I  must  con- 
sider them  as  commands,  doubly  binding ;  for  they  proceed  from 
one  so  vastly  my  superior  in  all  respects,  and  to  whom  I  am  un- 
der such  great  obligations,  that  the  mere  intimation  of  an  opinion 
will  be  sufficient  to  govern  my  conduct." 

The  President,  meanwhile,  was  paying  such  homage  to  the 
farmer  of  Ashland  as  no  President  of  the  United  States  had  ever 
paid  to  a  private  individual.  General  Jackson's  principal  object 
—  the  object  nearest  his  heart  —  appears  to  have  been  to  wound 
and  injure  Henry  Clay.  His  appointments,  his  measures,  and  his 
vetoes  seem  to  have  been  chiefly  inspired  by  resentment  against 


HENRY   CLAY.  41 

aim.  Ingham  of  Pennsylvania,  who  had  taken  the  lead  in  that 
State  in  giving  currency  to  the  "  bargain  "  calumny,  was  appoint- 
ed Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  Eaton,  who  had  aided  in  the 
original  concoction  of  that  foul  slander,  was  appointed  Secretary 
of  War.  Branch,  who  received  the  appointment  of  Secretary  of 
the  Navy,  was  one  of  the  few  Senators  who  had  voted  and  spok- 
en against  the  confirmation  of  Henry  Clay  to  the  office  of  Secre- 
tary of  State  in  1825  ;  and  Berrien,  Attorney- General,  was 
another.  Barry,  appointed  Postmaster-General,  was  the  Ken- 
tuckian  who  had  done  most  to  inflict  upon  Mr.  Clay  the  mortifi- 
cation of  seeing  his  own  Kentucky  siding  against  him.  John 
Randolph,  Clay's  recent  antagonist  in  a  duel,  and  the  most  unfit 
man  in  the  world  for  a  diplomatic  mission,  was  sent  Minister  to 
Russia.  Pope,  an  old  Kentucky  Federalist,  Clay's  opponent  and 
competitor  for  half  a  lifetime,  received  the  appointment  of  Gov- 
ernor of  the  Territory  of  Arkansas.  General  Harrison,  who  had 
generously  defended  Clay  against  the  charge  of  bargain  and  cor- 
ruption, was  recalled  from  a  foreign  mission  on  the  fourth  day 
after  General  Jackson's  accession  to  power,  though  he  had  scarce- 
ly reached  the  country  to  which  he  was  accredited.  In  the  place 
of  General  Harrison  was  sent  a  Kentuckian  peculiarly  obnoxious 
to  Mr.  Clay.  In  Kentucky  itself  there  was  a  clean  sweep  from 
office  of  Mr.  Clay's  friends  ;  not  one  man  of  them  was  left.  His 
brother-in-law,  James  Brown,  was  instantly  recalled  from  a  diplo- 
matic post  in  Europe.  Kendall,  the  chief  of  the  Kitchen  Cab- 
inet, had  once  been  tutor  to  Mr.  Clay's  children^  and  had  won  the 
favor  of  Jackson  by  lending  a  dexterous  hand  in  carrying  Kentucky 
against  his  benefactor.  Francis  Blair,  editor  of  the  Globe,  had 
also  been  the  particular  friend  and  correspondent  of  Mr.  Clay, 
but  had  turned  against  him.  From  the  Departments  in  Wash- 
ington, all  of  Mr.  Clay's  known  friends  were  immediately 
removed,  except  a  few  who  had  made  themselves  indispensable," 
and  a  few  others  whom  Mr.  Van  Buren  contrived  to  spare. 
In  nearly  every  instance,  the  men  who  succeeded  to  the  best 
places  had  made  themselves  conspicuous  by  their  vituperation  of 
Mr.  Clay.  He  was  strictly  correct  when  he  said,  "  Every  move- 
ment of  the  President  is  dictated  by  personal  hostility  toward 


42  HENRY   CLAY. 

me"  ;  but  he  was  deceived  when  he  added  that  it  all  conduced  to 
his  benefit.     Every  mind  that  was  both  just  and  well-informed 
warmed  toward  the  object  of  such  pitiless  and  demoniac  wrath 
but  in  what  land  are  minds  just  and  well-informed  a  majority  ? 

It  was  not  only  the  appointments  and  removals  that  were  aimed 
at  Mr.  Clay.  The  sudden  expulsion  of  gray  hairs  from  the  offi- 
ces they  had  honored,  the  precipitation  of  hundreds  of  families 
into  poverty,  —  this  did  not  satisfy  the  President's  vengeance. 
He  assailed  Henry  Clay  in  his  first  Message.  In  recommending 
a  change  in  the  mode  of  electing  the  President,  he  said  that, 
when  the  election  devolves  upon  the  House  of  Representatives, 
circumstances  may  give  the  power  of  deciding  the  election  to  one 
man.  "  May  he  not  be  tempted,"  added  the  President,  "  to  name 
his  reward?"  He  vetoed  appropriations  for  the  Cumberland 
Road,  because  the  name  and  the  honor  of  Henry  Clay  were  pe- 
culiarly identified  with  that  work.  He  destroyed  the  Bank  of 
the  United  States,  because  he  believed  its  power  and  influence 
were  to  be  used  in  favor  of  Mr.  Clay's  elevation  to  the  Presiden- 
cy. He  took  care,  in  his  Message  vetoing  the  recharter  of  the 
Bank,  to  employ  some  of  the  arguments  which  Clay  had  used  in 
opposing  the  recharter  of  the  United  States  Bank  in  1811.  Mis- 
erably sick  and  infirm  as  he  was,  he  consented  to  stand  for  re- 
election, because  there  was  no  other  candidate  strong  enough  to 
defeat  Henry  Clay  ;  and  he  employed  all  his  art,  and  the  whole 
power  of  the  administration,  during  his  second  term,  to  smooth 
Mr.  Van  Buren's  path  to  the  Presidency,  to  the  exclusion  of 
Henry  Clay.  Plans  were  formed,  too,  and  engagements  made, 
the  grand  object  of  which  was  to  keep  Clay  from  the  Presi- 
dency, even  after  Mr.  Van  Buren  should  have  served  his 
anticipated  eight  years.  General  Jackson  left  Washington  in 
1837,  expecting  that  Martin  Van  Buren  would  be  President  until 
1845,  and  that  he  would  then  be  succeeded  by  Thomas  H.  Ben- 
ton.  Nothing  prevented  the  fulfilment  of  this  programme  but 
the  financial  collapse  of  1837,  the  effects  of  which  continued 
during  the  whole  of  Mr.  Van  Buren's  term,  and  caused  his  de- 
%at  in  1840. 

Mr.  Clay  accepted  the  defiance  implied  in  General  Jackson's 


HENRY  CLAY.  43 

conduct.  He  reappeared  in  "Washington  in  1831,  Li  the  charac- 
ter of  Senator  and  candidate  for  the  Presidency.  His  journey  to 
Washington  was  again  a  triumphal  progress,  and  again  the  gal- 
leries were  crowded  to  hear  him  speak.  A  great  and  brilliant 
party  gathered  round  him,  strong  in  talents,  character,  property, 
and  supposed  to  be  strong  in  numbers.  He  at  once  proved  him- 
self to  be  a  most  unskilful  party  leader.  Every  movement  of  his 
in  that  character  was  a  mistake.  He  was  precipitate  when  he 
ought  to  have  been  cautious,  and  cautious  when  nothing  but 
audacity  could  have  availed.  The  first  subject  upon  which  he 
was  called  upon  to  act  was  the  tariff.  The  national  debt  being 
within  two  or  three  years  of  liquidation,  Calhoun  threatening  nul- 
lification, and  Jackson  vetoing  all  internal  improvement  bills,  it 
was  necessary  to  provide  against  an  enormous  surplus.  Clay 
maintained  that  the  protective  duties  should  remain  intact,  and 
that  only  those  duties  should  be  reduced  which  protected  no 
American  interest.  This  was  done  ;  the  revenue  was  reduced 
three  millions  ;  and  the  surplus  was  as  threatening  as  before.  It 
was  impossible  to  save  the  protective  duties  entire  without  raising 
too  much  revenue.  Mr.  Clay,  as  it  seems  to  us,  should  have 
plainly  said  this  to  the  manufacturers,  and  compelled  his  party  in 
Congress  to  warn  and  save  them  by  making  a  judicious  cut 
at  the  protective  duties  in  1832.  This  would  have  deprived  Cal- 
houn of  his  pretext,  and  prepared  the  way  for  a  safe  and  gradual 
reduction  of  duties  in  the  years  following.  Such  was  the  pros- 
perity of  the  country  in  1832,  that  the  three  millions  lost  to  the 
revenue  by  Mr.  Clay's  bill  were  likely  to  be  made  up  to  it  in 
three  years  by  the  mere  increase  in  the  imports  and  land  sales. 
V  Mr.  Clay's  next  misstep  was  one  of  precipitation.  General 
Jackson,  after  a  three  years'  war  upon  the  Bank,  was  alarmed  at 
the  outcry  of  its-  friends,  and  sincerely  desired  to  make  peace 
with  it.  "We  know,  from  the  avowals  of  the  men  who  stood  near- 
est his  person  at  the  time,  that  he  not  only  wished  to  keep  the 
Bank  question  out  of  the  Presidential  campaign  of  1832,  but  that 
he  was  willing  to  consent,  on  very  easy  conditions,  to  a  recharter. 
It  was  Mr.  Clay's  commanding  influence  that  induce!  the  direc- 
tors of  the  Bank  to  press  for  a  recharter  in  1832,  and  force  the 


44  HENRY   CLAY. 

President  tp  retraction  or  a  veto.  So  ignorant  was  this  able  and 
high-minded  man  of  human  nature  and  of  the  American  people, 
that  he  supposed  a  popular  enthusiasm  could  be  kindled  in  behalf 
of  a  bank!  Such  was  the  infatuation  of  some  of  his  friends,  that 
they  went  to  the  expense  of  circulating  copies  of  the  veto  message 
gratis,  for  the  purpose  of  lessening  the  vote  for  its  author  !  Mr. 
Clay  was  ludicrously  deceived  as  to  his  strength  with  the  masses 
of  the  people,  —  the  dumb  masses,  —  those  who  have  no  eloquent 
orators,  no  leading  newspapers,  no  brilliant  pamphleteers,  to  speak 
for  them,  but  who  assert  themselves  with  decisive  .effect  on  elec- 
tion day. 

It  was  another  capital  error  in  Mr.  Clay,  as  the  leader  of  a 
party,  to  run  at  all  against  General  Jackson.  He  should  have 
hoarded  his  prestige  for  1836,  when  the  magical  name  of  Jackson 
would  no  longer  captivate  the  ignorant  voter.  Mr.  Clay's  defeat 
in  1832,  so  unexpected,  so  overwhelming,  lamed  him  for  life  as  a 
candidate  for  the  Presidency.  He  lost  faith  in  his  star.  In  1836, 
when  there  was  a  chance  of  success, — just  a  chance,  —  he  would 
not  suffer  his  name  to  appear  in  the  canvass.  The  vote  of  the 
opposition  was  divided  among  three  candidates,  —  General  Har- 
rison, Hugh  L.  White,  and  Daniel  Webster  ;  and  Mr.  Van  Buren, 
of  course,  had  an  easy  victory.  Fortunately  for  his  ewnhappi- 
ness,  Mr.  Clay's  desire  for  the  Presidency  diminished  as  his 
chances  of  reaching  it  diminished.  That  desire  had  never  been 
morbid,  it  now  became  exceedingly  moderate  ;  nor  do  we  believe 
that,  after  his  crushing  defeat  of  1832,  he  ever  had  much  expec- 
tation of  winning  the  prize.  He  knew  too  well  the  arts  by  which 
success  is  assured,  to  believe  that  an  honorable  man  could  be 
elected  to  the  Presidency  by  honorable  means  only. 

Three  other  attempts  were  made  to  raise  him  to  the  highest 
office,  and  it  was  always  Andrew  Jackson  who  struck  him  down. 
In  1840,  he  was  set  aside  by  his  party,  and  General  Harrison 
nominated  in  his  stead.  This  was  Jackson's  doing ;  for  it  was 
the  great  defeat  of  1832  which  had  robbed  Clay  of  prestige,  and  it 
was  General  Jackson's  uniform  success  that  suggested  the  selec- 
tion of  a  military  candidate.  Again,  in  1844,  when  the  Texa» 
issue  was  presented  to  the  people,  it  was  by  the  adroit  use  o/ 


HENRY   CLAY.  45 

General  Jackson's  name  that  the  question  of  annexation  was  pre- 
cipitated upon  the'  country.  In  1848,  a  military  man  was  again 
nominated,  to  the  exclusion  of  Henry  Clay. 

Mr.  Clay  used  to  boast  of  his  consistency,  averring  that  he  had 
never  changed  his  opinion  upon  a  public  question  but  once.  We 
think  he  was  much  too  consistent.  A  notable  example  of  an  ex- 
cessive consistency  was  his  adhering  to  the  project  of  a  United 
States  Bank,  when  there  was  scarcely  a  possibility  of  establishing 
one,  and  his  too  steadfast  opposition  to  the  harmless  expedient  of 
the  Sub-treasury.  The  Sub-treasury  system  has  now  been  in 
operation  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  Call  it  a  bungling  and  an- 
tiquated system,  if  you  will ;  it  has  nevertheless  answered  its 
purpose.  The  public  money  is  taken  out  of  politics.  If  the  few 
millions  lying  idle  in  the  "  Strong  Box  "  do  no  good,  they  at  least 
do  no  harm ;  and  we  have  no  overshadowing  national  bank  to 
compete  with  private  capital,  and  to  furnish,  every  few  years,  a 
\heme  for  demagogues.  Mr.  Clay  saw  in  the  Sub-treasury  the 
ruin  of  the  Republic.  In  his  great  speech  of  1838,  in  opposition 
to  it,  he  uttered,  in  his  most  solemn  and  impressive  manner,  the 
following  words :  — 

"  Mr.  President,  a  great,  novel,  and  untried  measure  is  perseveringly 
Urged  upon  the  acceptance  of  Congress.  That  it  is  pregnant  with  tre- 
mendous consequences,  for  good  or  evil,  is  undeniable,  and  admitted 
by  all.  We  firmly  believe  that  it  will  be  fatal  to  the  best  interests  of 
this  country,  and  ultimately  subversive  of  its  liberties." 

No  one  acquainted  with  Mr.  Clay,  and  no  man,  himself  sin- 
cere, who  reads  this  eloquent  and  most  labored  speech,  can  doubt 
Mr.  Clay's  sincerity.  Observe  the  awful  solemnity  of  his  first 
sentences : — 

"I  have  seen  some  public  service,  passed  througn  many  troubled 
times,  and  often  addressed  public  assemblies,  in  this  Capitol  and  else- 
where; but  never  before  have  I  risen  in  a  deliberative  body  under 
more  oppressed  feelings,  or  with  a  deeper  sense  of  awful  responsibility. 
Never  before  have  I  risen  to  express  my  opinions  upon  any  public 
measure  fraught  with  such  tremendous  consequences  to  the  welfare  and 
prosperity  of  the  country,  and  so  perilous  to  the  liberties  of  the  people. 
as  I  solemnly  beli'jre  the  bill  under  consideration  will  be.  If  you 


46  HENRY  CLAY. 

knew,  sir,  what  sleepless  hours  reflection  upon  it  has  cost  me,  if  you 
knew  with  what  fervor  and  sincerity  I  have  implored  Divine  assistance 
to  strengthen  and  sustain  me  in  my  opposition  to  it,  I  should  have 
credit  with  you,  at  least,  for  the  sincerity  of  my  convictions,  if  I  shall 
be  so  unfortunate  as  not  to  have  your  concurrence  as  to  the  dangerous 
character  of  the  measure.  And  I  have  thanked  my  God  that  he  has 
prolonged  my  .life  until  the  present  time,  to  enable  me  to  exert  myself, 
in  the  service  of  my  country,  against  a  project  far  transcending  in  per- 
nicious tendency  any  that  1  have  ever  had  occasion  to  consider.  1 
thank  him  for  the  health  I  am  permitted  to  enjoy ;  I  thank  him  for  the 
soft  and  sweet  repose  which  I  experienced  last  night ;  I  thank  him  for 
the  bright  and  glorious  sun  which  shines  upon  us  this  day." 

And  what  was  the  question  at  issue?  It  was  whether  Nicholas 
Biddle  should  have  the  custody  of  the  public  money  at  Philadel- 
phia, and  use  the  average  balance  in  discounting  notes ;  or 
whether  Mr.  Cisco  should  keep  it  at  New  York  in  an  exceed- 
ingly strong  vault,  and  not  use  any  of  it  in  discounting  notes. 

As  the  leader  of  a  national  party  Mr.  Clay  failed  utterly ;  for 
he  was  neither  bad  enough  to  succeed  by  foul  means,  nor  skilful 
enough  to  succeed  by  fair  means.  But  in  his  character  of 
patriot,  orator,  or  statesman,  he  had  some  brilliant  successes  in 
his  later  years.  When  Jackson  was  ready  to  concede  all  to  the 
Nullifiers,  and  that  suddenly,  to  the  total  ruin  of  the  protected 
manufacturers,  it  was  Clay's  taet,  parliamentary  experience,  and 
personal  power  that  interposed  the  compromise  tariff,  which  re- 
duced duties  gradually  instead  of  suddenly.  The  Compromise 
of  1850,  also,  which  postponed  the  Rebellion  ten  years,  was 
chiefly  his  work.  That  Compromise  was  the  best  then  attain- 
able ;  and  we  think  that  the  country  owes  gratitude  to  the  man 
who  deferred  the  Rebellion  to  a  time  when  the  United  States 
was  strong  enough  to  subdue  it. 

Posterity,  however,  will  read  the  speeches  of  Mr.  Clay  upon 
the  various  slavery  questions  agitated  from  1835  to  1850  with 
mingled  feelings  of  admiration  and  regret.  A  man  compelled 
to  live  in  the  midst  of  slavery  must  hate  it  and  actively  oppose  it, 
or  else  be,  in  some  degree,  corrupted  by  it.  As  Thomas  Jeffer- 
son came  at  length  to  acquiesce  in  slavery,  and  live  contentedly 
with  it,  so  did  Henrj  Clay  lose  some  of  his  early  horror  of  th* 


HENRY   CLAY.  47 

system,  and  accept  it  as  a  necessity.  True,  he  never  lapsed  into 
the  imbecility  of  pretending  to  think  slavery  right  or  best,  but  he 
Baw  no  way  of  escaping  from  it ;  and  when  asked  his  opinion  as 
to  the  final  solution  of  the  problem,  he  could  only  throw  it  upon 
Providence.  Providence,  he  said,  would  remove  the  evil  in  its 
own  good  time,  and  nothing  remained  for  men  but  to  cease  the 
agitation  of  the  subject.  His  first  efforts,  as  his  last,  were  directed 
to  the  silencing  of  both  parties,  but  most  especially  the  Abolition- 
ists, whose  character  and  aims  he  misconceived.  With  John  C. 
Calhoun  sitting  near  him  in  the  Senate-chamber,  and  with  fire- 
eaters  swarming  at  the  other  end  of  the  Capitol,  he  could,  as  late 
as  1843,  cast  the  whole  blame  of  the  slavery  excitement  upon  the 
few  individuals  at  the  North  who  were  beginning  to  discern  the 
ulterior  designs  of  the  Nullifiers.  Among  his  letters  of  1843 
there  is  one  addressed -to  a  friend  who  was  about  to  write  a  pam- 
phlet against  the  Abolitionists.  Mr.  Clay  gave  him  an  outline 
of  what  he  thought  the  pamphlet  ought  to  be. 

"  The  great  aim  and  object  of  your  tract  should  be  to  arouse  the  la- 
boring classes  in  the  Free  States  against  abolition.  Depict  the  conse- 
quences to  them  of  immediate  abolition.  The  slaves,  being  free,  would 
be  dispersed  throughout  the  Union ;  they  would  enter  into  competition 
with  the  free  laborer,  with  the  American,  the  Irish,  the  German  ;  re- 
duce his  wages;  be  confounded  with  him,  and  affect  his  moral  and 
social  standing.  And  as  the  ultras  go  for  both  abolition  and  amalga- 
mation, show  that  their  object  is  to  unite  in  marriage  the  laboring 
white  man  and  the  laboring  black  man,  and  to  reduce  the  white  labor- 
ing man  to  the  despised  and  degraded  condition  of  the  black  man. 

"  I  would  show  their  opposition  to  colonization.  Show  its  humane, 
religious,  and  patriotic  aims;  that  they  are  to  separate  those  whom 
God  has  separated.  Why  do  the  Abolitionists  oppose  colonization  ? 
To  keep  and  amalgamate  together  the  two  races,  in  violation  of  God'a 
will,  and  to  keep  the  blacks  here,  that  they  may  interfere  with,  de- 
grade, and  debase  the  laboring  whites.  Show  that  the  British  nation 
is  co-operating  with  the  Abolitionists,  for  the  purpose  of  dissolving  the 
Union,  etc." 

This  is  so  very  absurd,  that,  if  we  did  not  know  it  to  express 
Mr.  Clay's  habitual  feeling  at  that  time,  we  should  be  compelled 
to  see  in  it,  not  Henry  Clay,  but  the  candidate  for  the  Presi- 


48  HENRY  CLAY. 

dency.  He  really  thought  so  in  1843.  He  was  perfectly  con- 
vinced that  the  white  race  and  the  black  could  not  exist  together 
on  equal  terms.  One  of  his  last  acts  was  to  propose  emancipa- 
tion in  Kentucky ;  but  it  was  an  essential  feature  of  his  plan  to 
transport  the  emancipated  blacks  to  Africa.  When  we  look  over 
Mr.  Clay's  letters  and  speeches  of  those  years,  we  meet  with  so 
much  that  is  short-sighted  and  grossly  erroneous,  that  we  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  this  man,  gifted  as  he  was,  and  dear  as 
his  memory  is  to  us,  shared  the  judicial  blindness  of  his  order. 
Its  baseness  and  arrogance  he  did  not  share.  His  head  was  often 
wrong,  but  his  heart  was  generally  right.  It  atones  for  all  his 
mere  errors  of  abstract  opinion,  that  he  was  never  admitted  to 
the  confidence  of  the  Nullifiers,  and  that  he  uniformly  voted 
against  the  measures  inspired  by  them.  He  was  against  the  un- 
timely annexation  of  Texas;  he  opposed  the  rejection  of  the 
anti-slavery  petitions ;  and  he  declared  that  no  earthly  power 
should  ever  induce  him  to  consent  to  the  addition  of  one  acre  of 
slave  territory  to  the  possessions  of  the  United  States. 

It  is  proof  positive  of  a  man's  essential  soundness,  if  he  im- 
proves as  he  grows  old.  Henry  Clay's  last  years  were  his  best ; 
he  ripened  to  the  very  end.  His  friends  remarked  the  moder- 
ation of  his  later  opinions,  and  his  charity  for  those  who  had 
injured  him  most.  During  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  no  one 
ever  heard  him  utter  a  harsh  judgment  of  an  opponent.  Domes- 
tic afflictions,  frequent  and  severe,  had  chastened  his  heart ;  his 
six  affectionate  and  happy  daughters  were  dead ;  one  son  was  a 
hopeless  lunatic  in  an  asylum ;  another  was  not  what  such  a 
father  had  a  right  to  expect;  and,  at  length,  his  favorite  and 
most  promising  son,  Henry,  in  the  year  1847,  fell  at  the  battle 
of  Buena  Vista.  It  was  just  after  this  last  crushing  loss,  and 
probably  in  consequence  of  it,  that  he  was  baptized  and  confirmed 
a  member  of  the  Episcopal  Church. 

When,  in  1849,  he  reappeared  in  the  Senate,  to  assist,  if  possi- 
ble, in  removing  the  slavery  question  from  politics,  he  was  an  in 
firm  and  serious,  but  not  sad,  old  man  of  seventy -two.  He  never 
lost  his  cheerfulness  or  his  faith,  but  he  felt  deeply  for  his  dis 
tracted  country.  During  that  memorable  session  of  Congress  he 


HENRY  CLAY.  49 

spoke  seventy  times.  Often  extremely  sick  and  feeble,  scarcely 
able,  with  the  assistance  of  a  friend's  arm,  to  climb  the  steps  of 
the  Capitol,  he  was  never  absent  on  the  days  when  the  Compro- 
mise was  to  be  debated.  It  appears  to  be  well  attested,  that  his 
last  great  speech  on  the  Compromise  was  the  immediate  cause  of 
his  death.  On  the  morning  on  which  he  began  his  speech,  he 
was  accompanied  by  a  clerical  friend,  to  whom  he  said,  on  reach- 
ing the  long  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  Capitol,  "  Will  you  lend 
me  your  arm,  my  friend  ?  for  I  find  myself  quite  weak  and  ex- 
hausted this  morning."  Every  few  steps  he  was  obliged  to  stop 
and  take  breath.  "  Had  you  not  better  defer  your  speech  ? " 
asked  the  clergyman.  "  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  dying  orator, 
"  I  consider  our  country  in  danger ;  and  if  I  can  be  the  means, 
in  any  measure,  of  averting  that  danger,  my  health  or  life  is 
of  little  consequence."  When  he  rose  to  speak,  it  was  but  too 
evident  that  he  was  unfit  for  the  task  he  had  undertaken.  But, 
as  he  kindled  with  his  subject,  his  cough  left  him,  and  his  bent 
form  resumed  all  its  wonted  erectness  and  majesty.  He  may,  in 
the  prime  of  his  strength,  have  spoken  with  more  energy,  but 
never  with  so  much  pathos  and  grandeur.  His  speech  lasted  two 
.days,  and,  though  he  lived  two  years  longer,  he  never  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  the  effort.  Toward  the  close  of  the  second 
day,  his  friends  repeatedly  proposed  an  adjournment  ;  but  he 
would  not  desist  until  he  had  given  complete  utterance  to  his 
feelings.  He  said  afterwards  that  he  was  not  sure,  if  he 
gave  way  to  an  adjournment,  that  he  should  ever  be  able  to 
resume. 

In  the  course  of  this  long  debate,  Mr.  Clay  said  some  things  to 
which  the  late  war  has  given  a  new  interest  He  knew,  at  last, 
what  the  fire-eaters  meant.  He  perceived  now  that  it  was  not 
the  few  abhorred  Abolitionists  of  the  Northern  States  from  whom 
danger  to  the  Union  was  to  be  apprehended.  On  one  occasion 
allusion  was  made  to  a  South  Carolina  hot-head,  who  had  public- 
ly proposed  to  raise  the  flag  of  disunion.  Thunders  of  applause 
broke  from  the  galleries  when  Mr.  Clay  retorted  by  saying,  that, 
if  Mr.  Rhett  had  really  made  that  proposition,  and  should  follow 
it  up  by  corresponding  acts,  he  would  be  a  TRAITOR  ;  "  and," 

3  D 


50  HENRY   CLAY. 

added  Mr.  Clay,  "  I  hope  he  will  meet  a  traitor's  fate."  When 
the  chairman  had  succeeded  in  restoring  silence,  Mr.  Clay  made 
that  celebrated  declaration  which  was  so  frequently  quoted  in 
1861 :  "If  Kentucky  to-morrow  should  unfurl  the  banner  of  re- 
sistance unjustly,  I  will  never  fight  under  that  banner.  I  owe  a 
paramount  allegiance  to  the  whole  Union,  —  a  subordinate  one  to 
my  own  State."  He  said  also :  "  If  any  one  State,  or  a  portion 
of  the  people  of  any  State,  choose  to  place  themselves  in  military 
array  against  the  government  of  the  Union,  I  am  for  trying  the 
strength  of  the  government.  I  am  for  ascertaining  whether  we 
have  a  government  or  not."  Again :  "  The  Senator  speaks  of 
Virginia  being  my  country.  This  UNION,  sir,  is  my  countiy ; 
the  thirty  States  are  my  country ;  Kentucky  is  my  country,  and 
Virginia  no  more  than  any  State  in  the  Union."  And  yet  again : 
"  There  are  those  who  think  that  the  Union  must  be  preserved 
by  an  exclusive  reliance  upon  love  and  reason.  That  is  not  my 
opinion.  I  have  some  confidence  in  this  instrumentality ;  but, 
depend  upon  it  that  no  human  government  can  exist  without  the 
power  of  applying  force,  and  the  actual  application  of  it  in  ex- 
treme cases." 

Who  can  estimate  the  influence  of  these  clear  and  emphatic 
utterances  ten  years  after?  The  crowded  galleries,  the  number- 
less newspaper  reports,  the  quickly  succeeding  death  of  the  great 
orator,  —  all  aided  to  give  them  currency  and  effect.  We  shall 
never  know  how  many  wavering  minds  they  aided  to  decide  in 
1861.  Not  that  Mr.  Clay  really  believed  the  conflict  would 
occur :  he  was  mercifully  permitted  to  die  in  the  conviction  that 
the  Compromise  of  1850  had  removed  all  immediate  danger,  and 
greatly  lessened  that  of  the  future.  Far  indeed  was  he  from 
foreseeing  that  the  ambition  of  a  man  born  in  New  England, 
calling  himself  a  disciple  of  Andrew  Jackson,  would,  within  five 
years, 'destroy  all  compromises,  and  render  all  future  compromise 
impossible,  by  procuring  the  repeal  of  the  first,  —  the  Missouri 
Compromise  of  1821. 

Henry  Clay  was  formed  by  nature  to  please,  to  move,  and  to 
impress  his  countrymen.  Never  was  there  a  more  captivating 
presence.  We  remember  hearing  Horace  Greeley  say  that,  if  a 


HENRY  CLAY.  51 

man  only  saw  Henry  Clay's  back,  he  would  know  that  it  was  the 
back  of  a  distinguished  man.  How  his  presence  filled  a  drawing- 
room  !  With  what  an  easy  sway  he  held  captive  ten  acres  of 
mass-meeting !  And,  in  the  Senate,  how  skilfully  he  showed 
himself  respectfully  conscious  of  the  galleries,  without  appearing 
to  address  them  !  Take  him  for  all  in  all,  we  must  regard  him 
as  the  first  of  American  orators ;  but  posterity  will  not  assign 
him  that  rank,  because  posterity  will  not  Lear  that  matchless 
voice,  will  not  see  those  large  gestures,  those  striking  attitudes, 
that  grand  manner,  which  gave  to  second-rave  composition  first- 
rate  effect.  He  could  not  have  been  a  great  statesman,  if  he  had 
been  ever  so  greatly  endowed.  While  slavery  existed  no  states- 
manship was  possible,  except  that  which  was  temporary  and  tem- 
porizing. The  thorn,  we  repeat,  was  in  the  flesh ;  and  the  doctors 
were  all  pledged  to  try  and  cure  the  patient  without  extracting  it 
They  could  do  nothing  but  dress  the  wound,  pot  on  this  salve  and 
that,  give  the  sufferer  a  little  respite  from  saguish,  and,  after  a 
brief  interval,  repeat  the  operation.  Of  a?J  tnese  physicians 
Henry  Clay  was  the  most  skilful  and  effective.  He  both  handled 
the  sore  place  with  consummate  dexterity,  and  kept  up  the  con- 
stitution of  the  patient  by  stimulant*,  which  enabled  him,  at  last, 
to  live  through  the  appalling  opera4>Mi  which  removed  the  cause 
of  his  agony. 

Henry  Clay  was  a  man  of  honour  and  a  gentleman.  He  kept 
his  word.  He  was  true  to  his  friends,  his  party,  and  his  convic- 
tions. He  paid  his  debts  and  hia  son's  debts.  The  instinct  of 
solvency  was  very  strong  in  him.  He  had  a  religion,  of  which 
the  main  component  parts  were  self-respect  and  love  of  country. 
These  were  supremely  authoritative  with  him  ;  he  would  not  do 
anything  which  he  felt  to  be  beneath  Henry  Clay,  or  which  he 
thought  would  be  injurious  to  the  United  States.  Five  times  a 
candidate  for  the  Presidency,  no  man  can  say  that  he  ever  pur- 
chased support  by  the  promise  of  an  office,  or  by  any  other  en- 
gagement savoring  of  dishonor.  Great  talents  and  a  great  under- 
standing are  seldom  bestowed  on  the  same  individual.  Mr. 
Clay's  usefulness  as  a  statesman  ww>  limited  by  his  talen*  as  an 
orator.  He  relied  too  much  on  b*»  oratory ;  he  was  never 


52  HENRY   CLAY. 

student  as  a  man  intrusted  with  public  business  ought  to  be. 
Hence  he  originated  nothing  and  established  nothing.  His 
speeches  will  long  be  interesting  as  the  relics  of  a  magnificent 
and  dazzling  personality,  and  for  the  light  they  cast  upon  the  his- 
tory of  parties ;  but  they  add  scarcely  anything  to  the  intellectu- 
al property  of  the  nation.  Of  American  orators  he  was  the  first 
whose  speeches  were  ever  collected  in  a  volume.  Millions  read 
them  with  admiration  in  his  lifetime  ;  but  already  they  have  sunk 
to  the  level  of  the  works  "  without  which  no  gentleman's  library 
is  complete,"  —  works  which  every  one  possesses  and  no  one 
reads. 

Henry  Clay,  regarded  as  a  subject  for  biography,  is  still  un- 
touched. Campaign  Lives  of  him  can  be  collected  by  the  score ; 
and  the  Rev.  Calvin  Colton  wrote  three  volumes  purporting  to  be 
the  Life  of  Henry  Clay.  Mr.  Colton  was  a  very  honest  gentle- 
man, and  not  wanting  in  ability  ;  but  writing,  as  he  did,  in  Mr. 
Clay's  own  house,  he  became,  as  it  were,  enchanted  by  his  sub- 
ject. He  was  enamored  of  Mr.  Clay  to  such  a  degree  that  his 
pen  ran  into  eulogy  by  an  impulse  which  was  irresistible,  and 
which  he  never  attempted  to  resist.  In  point  of  arrangement,  too, 
his  work  is  chaos  come  again.  A  proper  biography  of  Mr.  Clay 
would  be  one  of  the  most  entertaining  and  instructive  of  works. 
It  would  embrace  the  ever-memorable  rise  and  first  triumphs  of 
the  Democratic  party ;  the  wild  and  picturesque  life  of  the  early 
settlers  of  Kentucky  ;  the  war  of  1812 ;  Congress  from  1806  to 
1852  ;  the  fury  and  corruption  of  Jackson's  reign  ;  and  the  three 
great  compromises  which  postponed  the  Rebellion.  All  the  lead- 
ing men  and  all  the  striking  events  of  our  history  would  con- 
tribute something  to  the  interest  and  value  of  the  work.  Why 
go  to  antiquity  or  to  the  Old  World  for  subjects,  when  such  a 
subject  as  this  remains  unwritten  ? 


DANIEL   WEBSTER. 


DANIEL    WEBSTER. 


OF  words  spoken  in  recent  times,  few  have  touched  so  many 
hearts  as  those  uttered  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  on  his  death- 
bed. There  has  seldom  been  so  much  of  mere  enjoyment  crowded 
into  the  compass  of  one  lifetime  as  there  was  into  his.  Even  his 
work  —  all  of  his  best  work  —  was  only  more  elaborate  and 
keenly  relished  play ;  for  story-telling,  the  occupation  of  his 
maturity,  had  first  been  the  delight  of  his  childhood,  and  re- 
mained always  his  favorite  recreation.  Triumph  rewarded  his 
early  efforts,  and  admiration  followed  him  to  the  grave.  Into  no 
human  face  could  this  man  look,  nor  into  any  crowd  of  faces, 
which  did  not  return  his  glance  with  a  gaze  of  admiring  love. 
He  lived  precisely  where  and  how  it  was  happiest  for  him  to 
live ;  and  he  had  above  most  men  of  his  time  that  disposition  of 
mind  which  makes  the  best  of  bad  fortune  and  the  most  of  good. 
But  when  his  work  and  his  play  were  all  done,  and  he  came 
calmly  to  review  his  life,  and  the  life  of  man  on  earth,  this  was 
the  sum  of  his  reflections,  this  was  what  he  had  to  say  to  the  man 
to  whom  he  had  confided  his  daughter's  happiness :  "  Lockhart, 
I  may  have  but  a  minute  to  speak  to  you.  My  dear,  be  a  good 
man,  —  be  virtuous,  —  be  religious,  —  be  a  good  man.  Noth- 
ing else  will  give  you  any  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie 
here." 

So  do  we  all  feel  in  view  of  the  open  coffin,  much  as  we 
may  differ  as  to  what  it  is  to  be  good,  virtuous,  and  religious. 
Was  this  man,  who  lies  dead  here  before  us,  faithful  to  his  trust  ? 
Was  he  sincere,  pure,  just,  and  benevolent  ?  Did  he  help  civili- 
zation, or  was  he  an  obstacle  in  its  way  ?  Did  he  ripen  and  im- 
prove to  the  end,  or  did  he  degenerate  and  go  astray?  These  are 


56  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

the  questions  which  are  silently  considered  when  we  look  upon 
the  still  countenance  of  death,  and  especially  when  the  departed 
was  a  person  who  influenced  his  generation  long  and  powerfully. 
Usually  it  is  only  the  last  of  these  questions  which  mortals  can 
answer  with  any  certainty ;  but  from  the  answer  to  that  one  we 
infer  the  answers  to  all  the  others.  As  it  is  only  the  wise  who 
learn,  so  it  is  only  the  good  who  improve.  When  we  see  a  man 
gaining  upon  his  faults  as  he  advances  in  life,  when  we  find  him 
more  self-contained  and  cheerful,  more  learned  and  inquisitive, 
more  just  and  considerate,  more  single-eyed  and  noble  in  his 
aims,  at  fifty  than  he  was  at  forty,  and  at  seventy  than  he  was  at 
fifty,  we  have  the  best  reason  perceptible  by  human  eyes  for  con- 
cluding that  he  has  been  governed  by  right  principles  and  good 
feelings.  We  have  a  right  to  pronounce  such  a  person  good,  and 
he  is  justified  in  believing  us. 

The  three  men  most  distinguished  in  public  life  during  the  last 
forty  years  in  the  United  States  were  Henry  Clay,  John  C.  Cal- 
houn,  and  Daniel  Webster.  Henry  Clay  improved  as  he  grew 
old.  He  was  a  venerable,  serene,  and  virtuous  old  man.  The 
impetuosity,  restlessness,  ambition,  and  love  of  display,  and  the 
detrimental  habits  of  his  earlier  years,  gave  place  to  tranquillity^ 
temperance,  moderation,  and  a  patriotism  without  the  alloy  of 
personal  objects.  Disappointment  had  chastened,  not  soured 
him.  Public  life  enlarged,  not  narrowed  him.  The  city  of 
Washington  purified,  not  corrupted  him.  He  came  there  a 
gambler,  a  drinker,  a  profuse  consumer  of  tobacco,  and  a  turner 
of  night  into  day.  He  overcame  the  worst  of  those  habits  very 
early  in  his  residence  at  the  capital.  He  came  to  Washington 
to  exhibit  his  talents,  he  remained  there  to  serve  his  country ; 
nor  of  his  country  did  he  ever  think  the  less,  or  serve  her  less 
zealously,  because  she  denied  him  the  honor  he  coveted  for  thirty 
years.  We  cannot  say  this  of  Calhoun.  He  degenerated  fright- 
fully during  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life.  His  energy  degen- 
erated into  intensity,  and  his  patriotism  narrowed  into  section- 
alism. He  became  unteachable,  incapable  of  considering  an 
opinion  opposite  to  his  own,  or  even  a  fact  that  did  not  favor  it 
Exempt  by  his  bodily  constitution  from  all  temptation  to  physical 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  57 

excesses,  his  body  was  worn  out  by  the  intense,  unhealthy  work- 
ing of  his  mind.  False  opinions  falsely  held  and  intolerantly 
maintained  were  the  debauchery  that  sharpened  the  lines  of  hia 
face,  and  converted  his  voice  into  a  bark.  Peace,  health,  and 
growth  early  became  impossible  to  him,  for  there  was  a  canker 
in  the  heart  of  the  man.  His  once  not  dishonorable  desire  of  the 
Presidency  became  at  last  an  infuriate  lust  after  it,  which  his 
natural  sincerity  compelled  him  to  reveal  even  while  wrathfully 
denying  it.  He  considered  that  he  had  been  defrauded  of  the 
prize,  and  he  had  some  reason  for  thinking  so.  Some  men 
avenge  their  wrongs  by  the  pistol,  others  by  invective ;  but  the 
only  weapons  which  this  man  could  wield  were  abstract  proposi- 
tions. From  the  hills  of  South  Carolina  he  hurled  paradoxes  at 
General  Jackson,  and  appealed  from  the  dicta  of  Mrs.  Eaton's 
drawing-room  to  a  hair-splitting  theory  of  States'  Rights.  Fif- 
teen hundred  thousand  armed  men  have  since  sprung  up  from 
those  harmless-looking  dragon's  teeth,  so  recklessly  sown  in  the 
hot  Southern  soil. 

Of  the  three  men  whom  we  have  named,  Daniel  Webster  was 
incomparably  the  most  richly  endowed  by  nature.  In  his  life- 
time it  was  impossible  to  judge  him  aright.  His  presence  usu- 
ally overwhelmed  criticism;  his  intimacy  always  fascinated  it 
It  so  happened,  that  he  grew  to  his  full  stature  and  attained  his 
utmost  development  in  a  community  where  human  nature  ap- 
pears to  be  undergoing  a  process  of  diminution,  —  where  people 
are  smaller-boned,  less  muscular,  more  nervous,  and  more  sus- 
ceptible than  their  ancestors.  He  possessed,  in  consequence,  an 
enormous  physical  magnetism,  as  we  term  it,  over  his  fellow- 
citizens,  apart  from  the  natural  influence  of  his  talents  and  un- 
derstanding. Fidgety  men  were  quieted  in  his  presence,  women 
were  spellbound  by  it,  and  the  busy,  anxious  public  contemplated 
his  majestic  calm  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  as  well  as  admiration. 
Large  numbers  of  people  in  New  England,  for  many  years,  re- 
posed upon  Daniel  Webster.  He  represented  to  them  the  maj- 
esty and  the  strength  of  the  government  of  the  United  States. 
He  gave  them  a  sense  of  safety.  Amid  the  flighty  politics  of  the 
time  and  the  loud  insincerities  of  Washington,  there  seemed  one 
3* 


58  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

solid  thing  in  America,  so  long  as  he  sat  in  an  arm-chair  of  tbfe 
Senate-chamber.  When  he  appeared  in  State  Street,  slowly 
pacing,  with  an  arm  behind  him,  business  was  brought  to  an  ab- 
solute stand-still.  As  the  whisper  passed  along,  the  windows  filled 
with  clerks,  pen  in  mouth,  peering  out  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
man  whom  they  had  seen  fifty  times  before ;  while  the  bankers 
and  merchants  hastened  forth  to  give  him  salutation,  or  exchange 
a  passing  word,  happy  if  they  could  but  catch  his  eye.  At  home, 
and  in  a  good  mood,  he  was  reputed  to  be  as  entertaining  a  man 
as  New  England  ever  held,  —  a  gambolling,  jocund  leviathan  out 
on  the  sea-shore,  and  in  the  library  overflowing  with  every  kind 
of  knowledge  that  can  be  acquired  without  fatigue,  and  received 
without  preparation.  Mere  celebrity,  too,  is  dazzling  to  some 
minds.  While,  therefore,  this  imposing  person  lived  among  us, 
he  was  blindly  worshipped  by  many,  blindly  hated  by  some, 
calmly  considered  by  very  few.  To  this  hour  he  is  a  great  in- 
fluence in  the  United  States.  Perhaps,  with  the  abundant  ma- 
terial now  accessible,  it  is  not  too  soon  to  attempt  to  ascertain 
how  far  he  was  worthy  of  the  estimation  in  which  his  fellow- 
citizens  held  him,  and  what  place  he  ought  to  hold  in  the  esteem 
of  posterity.  At  least,  it  can  never  be  unpleasing  to  Americans 
to  recur  to  the  most  interesting  specimen  of  our  kind  that  has 
lived  in  America  since  Franklin. 

He  could  not  have  been  born  in  a  better  place,  nor  of  better 
stock,  nor  at  a  better  time,  nor  reared  in  circumstances  more  fa- 
vorable to  harmonious  development.  He  grew  up  in  the  Swit- 
zerland of  America.  From  a  hill  on  his  father's  New  Hampshire 
farm,  he  could  see  most  of  the  noted  summits  of  New  England. 
Granite-topped  Kearsarge  stood  out  in  bold  relief  near  by, 
Mount  Washington  and  its  attendant  peaks,  not  yet  named, 
bounded  the  northern  horizon  like  a  low,  silvery  cloud ;  and 
the  principal  heights  of  the  Green  Mountains,  rising  near  the 
Connecticut  River,  were  clearly  visible.  The  Merrimack,  most 
serviceable  of  rivers,  begins  its  course  a  mile  or  two  off,  formed 
by  the  union  of  two  mountain  torrents.  Among  those  hills, 
high  up,  sometimes  near  the  summits,  lakes  are  found,  broad, 
deep,  and  still ;  and  down  the  sides  run  innumerable  rills,  which 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  5S 

form  those  noisy  brooks  that  rush  along  the  bottom  of  the  hills, 
where  now  the  roads  wind  along,  shaded  by  the  mountain,  and 
enlivened  by  the  music  of  the  waters.  Among  these  hills  there 
are,  here  and  there,  expanses  of  level  country  large  enough  for  a 
farm,  with  the  addition  of  some  fields  upon  the  easier  acclivities 
and  woodlands  higher  up.  There  was  one  field  of  a  hundred 
acres  upon  Captain  Webster's  mountain  farm  so  level  that  a 
lamb  could  be  seen  on  any  part  of  it  from  the  windows  of  the 
house.  Every  tourist  knows  that  region  now,  —  that  wide,  bil- 
lowy expanse  of  dark  mountains  and  vivid  green  fields,  dotted 
with  white  farm-houses,  and  streaked  with  silvery  streams.  It 
was  rougher,  seventy  years  ago,  secluded,  hardly  accessible,  the 
streams  unbridged,  the  roads  of  primitive  formation ;  but  the 
worst  of  the  rough  work  had  been  done  there,  and  the  production 
of  superior  human  beings  had  become  possible,  before  the  Web- 
ster boys  were  born. 

Daniel  Webster's  fatter  was  the  strong  man  of  his  neighbor- 
hood ;  the  very  model  of  a  republican  citizen  and  hero,  —  stal- 
wart, handsome,  brave,  and  gentle.  Ebenezer  Webster  inherited 
no  worldly  advantages.  Sprung  from  a  line  of  New  Hampshire 
farmers,  he  was  apprenticed,  in  his  thirteenth  year,  to  another 
New  Hampshire  farmer ;  and  when  he  had  served  his  time,  he 
enlisted  as  a  private  soldier  in  the  old  French  war,  and  came 
back  from  the  campaigns  about  Lake  George  a  captain.  He 
never  went  to  school.  Like  so  many  other  New  England  boys, 
he  learned  what  is  essential  for  the  carrying  on  of  business  in 
the  chimney-corner,  by  the  light  of  the  fire.  He  possessed  one 
beautiful  accomplishment :  he  was  a  grand  reader.  Unlettered 
as  he  was,  he  greatly  enjoyed  the  more  lofty  compositions  of 
poets  and  orators ;  and  his  large,  sonorous  voice  enabled  him  to 
read  them  with  fine  effect  His  sons  read  in  his  manner,  even 
to  his  rustic  pronunciation  of  some  words.  Daniel's  calm,  clear- 
cut  rendering  of  certain  noted  passages —^favorites  in  his  early 
home  —  was  all  his  father's.  There  is  a  pleasing  tradition  in  the 
neighborhood,  of  the  teamsters  who  came  to  Ebenezer  Webster's 
mill  saying  to  one  another,  when  they  had  discharged  their  load 
and  tied  their  horses,  "  Come,  let  us  go  in,  and  hear  little  Dan 


60  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

read  a  psalm."  The  French  war  ended,  Captain  "Webster,  in 
compensation  for  his  services,  received  a  grant  of  land  in  the 
mountain  wilderness  at  the  head  of  the  Merrimack,  where,  as  miller 
and  farmer,  he  lived  and  reared  his  family.  The  Revolutionary 
War  summoned  this  noble  yeoman  to  arms  once  more.  He  led 
forth  his  neighbors  to  the  strife,  and  fought  at  their  head,  with 
his  old  rank  of  captain,  at  White  Plains  and  at  Bennington,  and 
served  valiantly  through  the  war.  From  that  time  to  the  end  of 
his  life,  though  much  trusted  and  employed  by  his  fellow-citizens 
as  legislator,  magistrate,  and  judge,  he  lived  but  for  one  object,  — 
the  education  and  advancement  of  his  children.  All  men  were 
poor  then  in  New  Hampshire,  compared  with  the  condition  of 
their  descendants.  Judge  Webster  was  a  poor,  and  even  embar- 
rassed man,  to  the  day  of  his  death.  The  hardships  he  had 
endured  as  soldier  and  pioneer  made  him,  as  he  said,  an  old  man 
before  his  time.  Rheumatism  bent  his  form,  once  so  erect  and 
vigorous.  Black  care  subdued  his  spirits,  once  so  joyous  and 
elastic.  Such  were  the  fathers  of  fair  New  England. 

This  strong-minded,  uncultured  man  was  a  Puritan  and  a 
Federalist,  —  a  catholic,  tolerant,  and  genial  Puritan,  an  intol- 
erant and  almost  bigoted  Federalist.  Washington,  Adams,  and 
Hamilton  were  the  civilians  highest  in  his  esteem ;  the  good 
Jefferson  he  dreaded  and  abhorred.  The  French  Revolution 
was  mere  blackness  and  horror  to  him ;  and  when  it  assumed  the 
form  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  his  heart  sided  passionately  with 
England  in  her  struggle  to  extirpate  it.  His  boys  were  in  the 
fullest  sympathy  with  him  in  all  his  opinions  and  feelings.  They, 
too,  were  tolerant  and  untheological  Puritans;  they,  too,  were 
most  strenuous  Federalists ;  and  neither  of  them  ever  recovered 
from  their  father's  influence,  nor  advanced  much  beyond  him  in 
their  fundamental  beliefs.  Readers  have,  doubtless,  remarked, 
in  Mr.  Webster's  oration  upon  Adams  and  Jefferson,  how  the 
stress  of  the  eulogy  falls  upon  Adams,  while  cold  and  scant  jus- 
tice is  meted  out  to  the  greatest  and  wisest  of  our  statesmen.  It 
was  Ebenezer  Webster  who  spoke  that  day,  with  the  more  melo- 
dious voice  of  his  son.  There  is  a  tradition  in  New  Hampshire 
that  Judge  Webster  fell  sick  on  a  journey  in  a  town  of  Republi- 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  61 

* 

can  polities,  and  besought  the  doctor  to  help  him  speedily  on  hia 
way  home,-  saying  that  he  was  born  a  Federalist,  had  lived  a 
Federalist,  and  could  not  die  in  peace  in  any  but  a  Federalist 
town. 

Among  the  ten  children  of  this  sturdy  patriot  and  partisan, 
eight  were  ordinary  mortals,  and  two  most  extraordinary,  —  Eze- 
kiel,  born  in  1780,  and  Daniel,  born  in  1782,  —  the  youngest  of 
his  boys.  Some  of  the  elder  children  were  even  less  than  ordi- 
nary. Elderly  residents  of  the  neighborhood  speak  of  one  half- 
brother  of  Daniel  and  Ezekiel  as  penurious  and  narrow ;  and 
the  letters  of  others  of  the  family  indicate  very  plain,  good,  com- 
monplace people.  But  these  two,  the  sons  of  their  father's  prime, 
inherited  all  his  grandeur  of  form  and  beauty  of  countenance, 
his  taste  for  high  literature,  along  with  a  certain  energy  of  mind 
that  came  to  them,  by  some  unknown  law  of  nature,  from  their 
father's  mother.  From  her  Daniel  derived  his  jet-black  hair  and 
eyes,  and  his  complexion  of  burnt  gunpowder;  though  all  the 
rest  of  the  children  except  one  were  remarkable  for  fairness  of 
complexion,  and  had  sandy  hair.  Ezekiel,  who  was  considered 
the  handsomest  man  in  the  United  States,  had  a  skin  of  singular 
fairness,  and  light  hair.  He  is  vividly  remembered  in  New 
Hampshire  for  his  marvellous  beauty  of  form  and  face,  his  courtly 
and  winning  manners,  the  weight  and  majesty  of  his  presence. 
He  was  a  signal  refutation  of  Dr.  Holmes's  theory,  that  grand 
manners  and  high  breeding  are  the  result  of  several  generations 
of  culture.  Until  he  was  nineteen,  this  peerless  gentleman 
worked  on  a  rough  mountain  farm  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization, 
as  his  ancestors  had  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  him ; 
but  he  was  refined  to  the  tips  of  his  finger-nails  and  to  the  buttons 
of  his  coat.  Like  his  more  famous  brother,  he  had  an  artist's  eye 
for  the  becoming  in  costume,  and  a  keen  sense  for  all  the  proprie- 
ties and  decorums  both  of  public  and  private  life.  Limited  in 
his  view  by  the  narrowness  of  his  provincial  sphere,  as  well  as 
by  inherited  prejudices,  he  was  a  better  man  and  citizen  than  his 
brother,  without  a  touch  of  his  genius.  Nor  was  that  half- 
brother  of  Daniel,  who  had  the  black  hair  and  eyes  and  gunpow 
der  skin,  at  all  like  Daniel,  or  equal  to  him  in  mental  power. 


62  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

There  is  nothing  in  our  literature  more  pleasing  than  the 
glimpses  it  affords  of  the  early  life  of  these  two  brothers ;  —  Eze- 
kiel,  robust,  steady-going,  persevering,  self-denying ;  Daniel, 
careless  of  work,  eager  for  play,  often  sick,  always  slender  and 
weakly,  and  regarded  rather  as  a  burden  upon  the  family  than 
a  help  to  it.  His  feebleness  early  habituated  him  to  being  a  re- 
cipient of  aid  and  favor,  and  it  decided  his  destiny.  It  has  been 
the  custom  in  New  England,  from  the  earliest  time,  to  bring  up 
one  son  of  a  prosperous  family  to  a  profession,  and  the  one  se- 
lected was  usually  the  boy  who  seemed  least  capable  of  earning  a 
livelihood  by  manual  labor.  Ebenezer  Webster,  heavily  burdened 
with  responsibility  all  his  life  long,  had  most  ardently  desired  to 
give  his  elder  sons  a  better  education  that  he  had  himself  enjoyed, 
but  could  not  When  Daniel  was  a  boy,  his  large  family  was 
beginning  to  lift  his  load  a  little  ;  the  country  was  filling  up ;  his 
farm  was  more  productive,  and  he  felt  somewhat  more  at  his  ease. 
His  sickly  youngest  son,  because  he  was  sickly,  and  only  for  that 
reason,  he  chose  from  his  numerous  brood  to  send  to  an  academy, 
designing  to  make  a  schoolmaster  of  him.  We  have  no  reason 
to  believe  that  any  of  the  family  saw  anything  extraordinary  in 
the  boy.  Except  that  he  read  aloud  unusually  well,  he  had 
given  no  sign  of  particular  talent,  unless  it  might  be  that  he  ex- 
celled in  catching  trout,  shooting  squirrels,  and  fighting  cocks. 
His  mother,  observing  his  love  of  play  and  his  equal  love  of 
books,  said  he  "  would  come  to  something  or  nothing,  she  could 
not  tell  which  " ;  but  his  father,  noticing  his  power  over  the  sym- 
pathies of  others,  and  comparing  him  with  his  bashful  brother, 
used  to  remark,  that  he  had  fears  for  Ezekiel,  but  that  Daniel 
would  assuredly  make  his  way  in  the  world.  It  is  certain  that 
the  lad  himself  was  totally  unconscious  of  possessing  extraordi- 
nary talents,  and  indulged  no  early  dream  of  greatness.  He 
tells  us  himself,  that  he  loved  but  two  things  in  his  youth,  —  play 
and  reading.  The  rude  schools  which  he  trudged  two  or  three 
miles  in  the  winter  every  day  to  attend,  taught  him  scarcely  any- 
thing. His  father's  saw-mill,  he  used  to  say,  was  the  real 
school  of  his  youth.  When  he  had  set  the  saw  and  turned  on 
the  water,  there  would  be  fifteen  minutes  of  tranquillity  before 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  68 

the  log  again  required  his  attention,  during  which  he  sat  and 
absorbed  knowledge.  "  We  had  so  few  books,"  he  records  in  the 
exquisite  fragment  of  autobiography  he  has  left  us,  "  that  to  read 
them  once  or  twice  was  nothing.  We  thought  they  were  all  to 
be  got  by  heart." 

How  touching  the  story,  so  well  known,  of  the  mighty  struggle 
and  long  self-sacrifice  it  cost  this  family  to  get  the  youth  through 
college  !  The  whole  expense  did  not  average  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  year ;  but  it  seemed  to  the  boy  so  vast  and  unat- 
tainable a  good,  that,  when  his  father  announced  his  purpose  to 
attempt  it,  he  was  completely  overcome;  his  head  was  dizzy; 
his  tongue  was  paralyzed ;  he  could  only  press  his'father's  hands 
and  shed  tears.  Slender  indeed  was  his  preparation  for  Dart- 
mouth. From  the  day  when  he  took  his  first  Latin  lesson  to 
that  on  which  he  entered  college  was  thirteen  months.  He  could 
translate  Cicero's  orations  with  some  ease,  and  make  out  with 
difficulty  and  labor  the  easiest  sentences  of  the  Greek  Reader, 
and  that  was  the  whole  of  what  was  called  his  "  preparation  "  for 
college.  In  June,  1797,  he  did  not  know  the  Greek  alphabet; 
in  August  of  the  same  year  he  was  admitted  to  the  Freshman 
Class  of  Dartmouth  on  engaging  to  supply  his  deficiencies  by 
extra  study. 

Neither  at  college  nor  at  any  time  could  Daniel  Webster  be 
properly  called  a  student,  and  well  he  knew  it.  Many  a  time  he 
has  laughed,  in  his  jovial,  rollicking  manner,  at  the  preposterous 
reputation  for  learning  a  man  can  get  by  bringing  out  a  fragment 
of  curious  knowledge  at  the  right  moment  at  college.  He  was 
an  absorbent  of  knowledge,  never  a  student.  The  Latin  of 
Cicero  and  Virgil  was  congenial  and  easy  to  him,  and  he  learned 
more  of  it  than  the  required  portion.  But  even  in  Latin,  he 
tells  us,  he  was  excelled  by  some  of  his  own  class ;  and  "  his 
attainments  were  not  such,"  he  adds,  "  as  told  for  much  in  the 
recitation-room."  Greek  he  never  enjoyed :  his  curiosity  was 
never  awakened  on  the  edge  of  that  boundless  contiguity  of 
interesting  knowledge,  and  he  only  learned  enough  Greek  fo 
escape  censure.  He  said,  forty  years  after,  in  an  after-dinner 
speech:  "When  I  was  at  school  I  felt  exceedingly  obliged  to 


84  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Homer's  messengers  for  the  exact  literal  fidelity  with  which  they 
delivered  their  messages.  The  seven  or  eight  lines  of  good 
Homeric  Greek  in  which  they  had  received  the  commands  of 
Agamemnon  or  Achilles  they  recited  to  whomsoever  the  message 
was  to  be  carried ;  and  as  they  repeated  them  verbatim,  some- 
times twice  or  thrice,  it  saved  me  the  trouble  of  learning  so  much 
Greek."  It  was  not  at  '  school  "  that  he  had  this  experience,  but 
at  Dartmouth  College.  For  mathematics,  too,  he  had  not  the 
slightest  taste.  He  humorously  wrote  to  a  fellow-student,  soon 
after  leaving  college,  that  "  all  that  he  knew  about  conterminous 
arches  or  evanescent  subtenses  might  be  collected  on  the  pupil  of 
a  gnat's  eye  without  making  him  wink."  At  college,  in  fact,  he 
was  simply  an  omnivorous  reader,  studying  only  so  much  as  to 
pass  muster  in  the  recitation-room.  Every  indication  we  possess 
of  his  college  life,  as  well  as  his  own  repeated  assertions,  confirms 
the  conclusion  that  Nature  had  formed  him  to  use  the  products 
of  other  men's  toil,  not  to  add  to  the  common  fund.  Those  who 
are  conversant  with  college  life  know  very  well  what  it  means 
when  a  youth  does  not  take  to  Greek,  and  has  an  aversion  to 
mathematics.  Such  a  youth  may  have  immense  talent,  and  give 
splendid  expression  to  the  sentiments  of  his  countrymen,  but  he 
is  not  likely  to  be  one  of  the  priceless  few  of  the  human  race  who 
dicover  truth  or  advance  opinion.  It  is  the  energetic,  the  origi- 
nating minds  that  are  susceptible  to  the  allurements  of  difficulty. 
On  the  other  hand,  Daniel  Webster  had  such  qualities  as  made 
every  one  feel  that  he  was  the  first  man  in  the  College.  Tall, 
gaunt,  and  sallow,  with  an  incomparable  forehead,  and  those  cav- 
ernous and  brilliant  eyes  of  his,  he  had  much  of  the  large  and 
tranquil  presence  which  was  so  important  an  element  of  his  power 
over  others  at  all  periods  of  his  life.  His  letters  of  this  time,  as 
well  as  the  recollections  of  his  fellow-students,  show  him  the 
easy,  humorous,  rather  indolent  and  strictly  correct  "  good-fellow," 
whom  professors  and  companions  equally  relished.  He  browsed 
"  much  in  the  College  library,  and  had  the  habit  of  bringing  to 
bear  upon  the  lesson  of  the  hour  the  information  gathered  in  his 
miscellaneous  reading,  —  a  practice  that  much  enlivens  the  mo- 
notony of  recitation.  The  half-dozen  youths  of  his  particular  sef, 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  65 

it  appears,  plumed  themselves  upon  resembling  the  early  Chris- 
tians in  having  all  things  in  common.  The  first  to  rise  in  the 
morning  —  and  he  must  have  been  an  early  riser  indeed  who 
was  up  before  Daniel  Webster  — "  dressed  himself  in  the  best 
M  hich  the  united  apartments  afforded  " ;  the  next  made  the  best 
selection  from  what  remained ;  and  the  last  was  happy  if  he 
found  rags  enough  to  justify  his  appearance  in  the  chapel.  The 
relator  of  this  pleasant  reminiscence  adds,  that  he  was  once  the 
possessor  of  an  eminently  respectable  beaver  hat,  a  costly  article 
of  resplendent  lustre.  It  was  missing  one  day,  could  not  be 
found,  and  was  given  up  for  lost.  Several  weeks  after  "  friend 
Dan  "  returned  from  a  distant  town,  where  he  had  been  teaching 
school,  wearing  the  lost  beaver,  and  relieving  its  proprietor  from 
the  necessity  of  covering  his  head  with  a  battered  and  long-dis- 
carded hat  of  felt.  How  like  the  Daniel  Webster  of  later  years, 
who  never  could  acquire  the  sense  of  meum  and  tuum,  supposed 
to  be  the  basis  of  civilization  ! 

Mr.  Webster  always  spoke  slightingly  of  his  early  oratorical 
efforts,  and  requested  Mr.  Everett,  the  editor  of  his  works,  not 
to  search  them  out.  He  was  not  just  to  the  productions  of  his 
youth,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  Fourth-of-July  oration  which  he 
delivered  in  1800,  when  he  was  a  Junior  at  Dartmouth,  eighteen 
years  of  age.  This  glowing  psalm  of  the  republican  David  is 
perfectly  characteristic,  and  entirely  worthy  of  him.  The  times 
that  tried  men's  souls,  —  how  recent  and  vivid  they  were  to  the 
sons  of  Ebenezer  Webster,  who  had  led  forth  from  the  New 
Hampshire  hills  the  neighbors  at  whose  firesides  Ezekiel  and 
Daniel  had  listened,  open-mouthed,  to  the  thousand  forgotten  in- 
cidents of  the  war.  Their  professors  of  history  were  old  John 
Bowen,  who  had  once  been  a  prisoner  with  the  Indians  ;  Robert 
Wise,  who  had  sailed  round  the  world  and  fought  in  the  Revolu- 
tion 011  both  sides ;  George  Bayly,  a  pioneer,  who  saw  the  first 
tree  felled  in  Northern  New  Hampshire ;  women  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, who  had  heard  the  midnight  yell  of  savages ;  and,  above 
all,  their  own  lion-hearted  father,  who  had  warred  with  French- 
men, Indians,  wild  nature,  British  troops,  and  French  ideas. 
"  0,"  wrote  Daniel  once,  "  I  shall  never  hear  such  story  telling 


6(5  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

again ! "  It  was  not  in  the  cold  pages  of  Hildreth,  nor  in  the 
brief  summaries  of  school-books,  that  this  imaginative,  sympathet- 
ic youth  had  learned  that  part  of  the  political  history  of  the 
United  States  —  from  1787  to  1800  —  which  will  ever  be  its 
most  interesting  portion.  He  learned  it  at  town-meetings,  in  the 
newspapers,  at  his  father's  house,  among  his  neighbors,  on  elec- 
tion days ;  he  learned  it  as  an  intelligent  youth,  with  a  passion- 
ately loyal  father  and  mother,  learned  the  history  of  the  late  war, 
and  is  now  learning  the  agonizing  history  of  "  reconstruction." 
This  oration  is  the  warm  and  modest  expression  of  all  that  the 
receptive  and  unsceptical  student  had  imbibed  and  felt  during  the 
years  of  his  formation,  who  saw  before  him  a  large  company  of 
Revolutionary  soldiers  and  a  great  multitude  of  Federalist  parti- 
sans. He  saluted  the  audience  as  "  Countrymen,  brethren,  and 
fathers."  The  oration  was  chiefly  a  rapid,  exulting  review  of  the 
history  of  the  young  Republic,  with  an  occasional  pomposity,  and 
a  few  expressions  caught  from  the  party  discussions  of  the  day. 
It  is  amusing  to  hear  this  young  Federalist  of  1800  speak  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  as  "  the  gasconading  pilgrim  of  Egypt,"  and 
the  government  of  France  as  the  "supercilious,  five-headed  Di- 
rectory," and  the  President  of  the  United  States  as  "  the  firm,  the 
wise,  the  inflexible  Adams,  who  with  steady  hand  draws  the  dis- 
guising veil  from  the  intrigues  of  foreign  enemies  and  the  plots 
of  domestic  foes."  It  is  amusing  to  read,  as  the  utterance  of 
Daniel  Webster,  that  "  Columbia  is  now  seated  in  the  forum  of  na- 
tions, and  the  empires  of  the  world  are  amazed  at  the  bright  efful- 
gence of  her  glory."  But  it  is  interesting  to  observe,  also,  that  at 
eighteen,  not  less  fervently  than  at  forty-eight,  he  felt  the  impor- 
tance of  the  message  with  which  he  was  charged  to  the  American 
people,  —  the  necessity  of  the  Union,  and  the  value  of  the  Con- 
stitution as  the  uniting  bond.  The  following  passage  has,  per- 
haps, more  in  it  of  the  Webster  of  1830  than  any  other  in  the 
oration.  The  reader  will  notice  the  similarity  between  one  part 
of  it  and  the  famous  passage  in  the  Bunker  Hill  oration,  begin- 
ning "  Venerable  men,"  addressed  to  the  survivors  of  the  Revo* 
lution. 

"  Thus,  friends  aM  citizens,  did  the  kind  hand  of  overruling  Provi 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  67 

dence  conduct  us,  through  toils,  fatigues,  and  dangers,  to  independence 
and  peace.  If  piety  be  the  rational  exercise  of  the  human  soul,  if  re- 
ligion be  not  a  chimera,  and  if  the  vestiges  of  heavenly  assistance  are 
clearly  traced  in  those  events  which  mark  the  annals  of  our  nation,  it 
Becomes  us  on  this  day,  in  consideration  of  the  great  things  which  have 
been  done  for  us,  to  render  the  tribute  of  unfeigned  thanks  to  that  God 
who  superintends  the  universe,  and  holds  aloft  the  scale  that  weighs  the 
destinies  of  nations. 

"  The  conclusion  of  the  Revolutionary  War  did  not  accomplish  the 
entire  achievements  of  our  countrymen.  Their  military  character  was 
then,  indeed,  sufficiently  established ;  but  the  time  was  coming  which 
should  prove  their  political  sagacity,  their  ability  to  govern  them- 
selves. 

"No  sooner  was  peace  restored  with  England,  (the  first  grand 
article  of  which  was  the  acknowledgment  of  our  independence,)  than 
the  old  system  of  Confederation,  dictated  at  first  by  necessity,  and 
adopted  for  the  purposes  of  the  moment,  was  found  inadequate  to  the 
government  of  an  extensive  empire.  Under  a  full  conviction  of  this, 
we  then  saw  the  people  of  these  States  engaged  in  a  transaction  which 
is  undoubtedly  the  greatest  approximation  towards  human  perfection 
the  political  world  ever  yet  witnessed,  and  which,  perhaps,  will  forever 
stand  in  the  history  of  mankind  without  a  parallel.  A  great  republic, 
composed  of  different  States,  whose  interest  in  all  respects  could  not 
be  perfectly  compatible,  then  came  deliberately  forward,  discarded  one 
system  of  government,  and  adopted  another,  without  the  loss  of  one 
man's  blood. 

"  There  is  not  a  single  government  now  existing  in  Europe  which 
is  not  based  in  usurpation,  and  established,  if  established  at  all,  by  the 
sacrifice  of  thousands.  But  in  the  adoption  of  our  present  sys- 
tem of  jurisprudence,  we  see  the  powers  necessary 'for  government 
voluntarily  flowing  from  the  people,  their  only  proper  origin,  and 
directed  to  the  public  good,  their  only  proper  object. 

"  With  peculiar  propriety,  we  may  now  felicitate  ourselves  on  that 
happy  form  of  mixed  government  under  which  we  live.  The  advan- 
tages resulting  to  the  citizens  of  the  Union  are  utterly  incalculable, 
and  the  day  when  it  was  received  by  a  majority  of  the  States  shall 
stand  on  the  catalogue  of  American  anniversaries  second  to  none  but 
the  birthday  of  independence. 

"  In  consequence  of  the  adoption  of  our  present  system  of  govern- 
ment, and  the  virtuous  manner  in  which  it  has  been  administered  by  a 
Washington  and  an  Adams,  we  are  this  day  in  the  enjoyment  of  peace, 


68  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

while  war  devastates  Europe !  We  can  now  sit  down  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  olive,  while  her  cities  blaze,  her  streams  run  purple 
with  blood,  and  her  fields  glitter  with  a  forest  of  bayonets !  The 
citizens  of  America  can  this  day  throng  the  temples  of  freedom,  and 
renew  their  oaths  of  fealty  to  independence ;  while  Holland,  our 
once  sister  republic,  is  erased  from  the  catalogue  of  nations ;  while 
Venice  is  destroyed,  Italy  ravaged,  and  Switzerland  —  the  once 
happy,  the  once  united,  the  once  nourishing  Switzerland  —  lies 
bleeding  at  every  pore  ! " 

He  need  not  have  been  ashamed  of  this  speech,  despite  the 
lumbering  bombast  of  some  of  its  sentences.  All  that  made  him 
estimable  as  a  public  man  is  contained  in  it,  —  the  sentiment  of 
nationality,  and  a  clear  sense  of  the  only  means  by  which  the 
United  States  can  remain  a  nation  ;  namely,  strict  fidelity  to  the 
Constitution  as  interpreted  by  the  authority  itself  creates,  and 
modified  in  the  way  itself  appoints.  We  have  never  read  the 
production  of  a  youth  which  was  more  prophetic  of  the  man  than 
this.  It  was  young  New  England  that  spoke  through  him  on 
that  occasion ;  and  in  all  the  best  part  of  his  life  he  never 
touched  a  strain  which  New  England  had  not  inspired,  or  could 
not  reach. 

His  success  at  college  giving  him  ascendency  at  home,  he 
employed  it  for  the  benefit  of  his  brother  in  a  manner  which  few 
aons  would  have  dared,  and  no  son  ought  to  attempt.  His  father, 
now  advanced  in  years,  infirm,  "  an  old  man  before  his  time " 
through  hardship  and  toil,  much  in  debt,  depending  chiefly  upon 
his  salary  of  four  hundred  dollars  a  year  as  Judge  of  the  Court 
of  Common  Pleas,  and  heavily  taxed  to  maintain  Daniel  in  col- 
lege, had  seen  all  his  other  sons  married  and  settled  except 
Ezekiel,  upon  whom  he  leaned  as  the  staff  of  his  declining  years, 
and  the  main  dependence  of  his  wife  and  two  maiden  daughters. 
Nevertheless,  Daniel,  after  a  whole  night  of  consultation  with  his 
brother,  urged  the  old  man  to  send  Ezekiel  to  college  also.  The 
fond  and  generous  father  replied,  that  he  had  but  little  property, 
and  it  would  take  all  that  little  to  carry  another  son  through  col- 
lege to  a  profession  ;  but  he  lived  only  for  his  children,  and,  foi 
his  own  part,  he  was  willing  to  run  the  risk ;  but  there  was  the 
mother  and  two  unmarried  sisters,  to  whom  the  risk  was  far  more 


LANIEL  WEBSTER.  69 

serious.  If  they  consented,  he  was  willing.  The  mother  said : 
"  I  have  lived  long  in  the  world,  and  have  been  happy  in  my 
children.  If  Daniel  and  Ezekiel  will  promise  to  take  care  of 
me  in  my  old  age,  I  will  consent  to  the  sale  of  all  our  property 
at  once,  and  they  may  enjoy  the  benefit  of  that  which  remains 
after  our  debts  are  paid."  Upon  hearing  this,  all  the  family,  we 
are  told,  were  dissolved  in  tears,  and  the  old  man  gave  his  assent. 
This  seems  hard,  —  two  stout  and  vigorous  young  men  willing  to 
risk  their  aged  parents'  home  and  dignity  for  such  a  purpose,  or 
for  any  purpose  !  In  the  early  days,  however,  there  was  a  sin- 
gular unity  of  feeling  and  interest  in  a  good  New  England 
family,  and  there  were  opportunities  for  professional  men  which 
rendered  the  success  of  two  such  lads  as  these  nearly  certain,  if 
they  lived  to  establish  themselves.  Nevertheless,  it  was  too 
much  to  ask,  and  more  than  Daniel  Webster  would  have  asked 
if  he  had  been  properly  alive  to  the  rights  of  others.  Ezekiel 
shouldered  his  bundle,  trudged  off  to  school,  where  he  lived  and 
studied  at  the  cost  of  one  dollar  a  week,  worked  his  way  to  the 
position  of  the  second  lawyer  in  New  Hampshire,  and  would  early 
have  gone  to  Congress  but  for  his  stanch,  inflexible  Federalism. 

Daniel  Webster,  schoolmaster  and  law-student,  was  assuredly 
one  of  the  most  interesting  of  characters.  Pinched  by  poverty, 
as  he  tells  us,  till  his  very  bones  ached,  eking  out  his  income  by 
a  kind  of  labor  that  he  always  loathed  (copying  deeds),  his  shoes 
letting  in,  not  water  merely,  but  "  pebbles  and  stones,"  —  father, 
brother,  and  himself  sometimes  all  moneyless  together,  all  dunned 
at  the  same  time,  and  writing  to  one  another  for  aid,  —  he  was 
nevertheless  as  jovial  a  young  fellow  as  any  in  New  England. 
How  merry  and  affectionate  his  letters  to  his  young  friends ! 
He  writes  to  one,  soon  after  leaving  college :  "  You  will  natu 
rally  inquire  how  I  prosper  in  the  article  of  cash ;  finely,  finely  1 
I  came  here  in  January  with  a  horse,  watch,  etc.,  and  a  few  ras- 
cally counters  in  my  pocket.  Was  soon  obliged  to  sell  my  horse, 
and  live  on  the  proceeds.  Still  straitened  for  cash,  I  sold  my 
watch,  and  made  a  shift  to  get  home,  where  my  friends  supplied 
me  with  another  horse  and  another  watch.  My  horse  is  sold 
again,  and  my  watch  goes,  I  expect,  this  week;  thus  you  see 


70  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

how  I  lay  up  cash."  How  like  him !  To  another  college  friend, 
James  Hervey  Bingham,  whom  he  calls,  by  turns,  "  brother 
Jemmy,"  ft  Jemmy  Hervey,"  and  "  Bingham,"  he  discourses  thus : 
"  Perhaps  you  thought,  as  I  did,  that  a  dozen  dollars  would  slidt 
out  of  the  pocket  in  a  Commencement  jaunt  much  easier  than 
'hey  would  slide  in  again  after  you  got  home.  That  was  the  ex- 

*ct  reason  why  I  was  not  there I  flatter  myself  that  none 

of  my  friends  ever  thought  me  greatly  absorbed  in  the  sin  of 
avarice,  yet  I  assure  you,  Jem,  that  in  these  days  of  poverty  I 
look  upon  a  round  dollar  with  a  great  deal  of  complacency. 
These  rascal  dollars  are  so  necessary  to  the  comfort  of  life,  that 
next  to  a  fine  wife  they  are  most  essential,  and  their  acquisition 
an  object  of  prime  importance.  O  Bingham,  how  blessed  it 
would  be  to  retire  with  a  decent,  clever  bag  of  Rixes  to  a  pleas- 
ant country  town,  and  follow  one's  own  inclination  without  being 
shackled  by  the  duties  of  a  profession!"  To  the  same  friend, 
whom  he  now  addresses  as  "  dear  Squire,"  he  announces  joyfully 
a  wondrous  piece  of  luck :  "  My  expenses  [to  Albany]  were  all 
amply  paid,  and  on  my  return  I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  and 
found  one  hundred  and  twenty  dear  delightfuls !  Is  not  that 
good  luck?  And  these  dear  delightfuls  were,  'pon  honor,  all  my 
own ;  yes,  every  dog  of  them ! "  To  which  we  may  add  from  an- 
other source,  that  they  were  straightway  transferred  to  his  father, 
to  whom  they  were  dear  delightfuls  indeed,  for  he  was  really 
getting  to  the  end  of  his  tether. 

The  schoolmaster  lived,  it  appears,  on  the  easiest  terms  with 
bis  pupils,  some  of  whom  were  older  than  himself.  He  tells  a 
story  of  falling  in  with  one  of  them  on  his  journey  to  school, 
who  was  mounted  "  on  the  ugliest  horse  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of, 
except  Sancho  Panza's  pacer."  The  schoolmaster  having  two 
good  horses,  the  pupil  mounted  one  of  them,  strapped  his  bag  to 
his  own  forlorn  animal  and  drove  him  before,  where  his  odd  gait 
and  frequent  stumblings  kept  them  amused.  At  length,  arriving 
at  a  deep  and  rapid  river,  "  this  satire  on  the  animal  cre&iion,  as 
if  to  revenge  herself  on  us  for  our  sarcasms,  plunged  into  the 
river,  then  very  high  by  the  freshet,  and  was  wafted  down  the 
current  like  a  bag  of  oats !  I  could  hardly  sit  on  my  horse  fof 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  71 

laughter.  I  am  apt  to  laugh  at  the  vexations  of  my  friends. 
The  fellow,  who  was  of  my  own  age,  and  my  room-mate,  half 
checked  the  current  by  oaths  as  big  as  lobsters,  and  the  old  Rosi- 
nante,  who  was  all  the  while  much  at  her  ease,  floated  up  among 
the  willows  far  below  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river." 

At  the  same  time  he  was  an  innocent  young  man.  If  he  had 
any  wild  oats  in  his  composition,  they  were  not  sown  in  the  days 
of  his  youth.  Expecting  to  pass  his  life  as  a  country  lawyer, 
having  scarcely  a  premonition  of  his  coming  renown,  we  find  him 
enjoying  the  simple  country  sports  and  indulging  in  the  simple 
village  ambitions.  He  tried  once  for  the  captaincy  of  a  company 
of  militia,  and  was  not  elected ;  he  canvassed  a  whole  regiment 
to  get  his  brother  the  post  of  adjutant,  and  failed.  At  one  time 
he  came  near  abandoning  the  law,  as  too  high  and  perilous  for 
him,  and  settling  down  as  schoolmaster  and  clerk  of  a  court. 
The  assurance  of  a  certain  six  hundred  dollars  a  year,  a  house, 
and  a  piece  of  land,  with  the  prospect  of  the  clerkship  by  and  by, 
was  so  alluring  to  him  that  it  required  all  the  influence  of  his 
family  and  friends  to  make  him  reject  the  offer.  Even  then,  in 
the  flush  and  vigor  of  his  youth,  he  was  led.  So  was  it  always. 
He  was  never  a  leader,  but  always  a  follower.  Nature  made 
him  very  large,  but  so  stinted  him  in  propelling  force,  that  it  is 
doubtful  if  he  had  ever  emerged  from  obscurity  if  his  friends  had 
not  urged  him  on.  His  modesty  in  these  innocent  clays  is  most 
touching  to  witness.  After  a  long  internal  conflict,  he  resolved, 
in  his  twentieth  year,  to  "  make  one  more  trial "  at  mastering  the 
law.  "  If  I  prosecute  the  profession,  I  pray  God  to  fortify  me 
against  its  temptations.  To  the  wind  I  dismiss  those  light  hopes 
of  eminence  which  ambition  inspired  and  vanity  fostered.  To  be 
'  honest,  to  be  capable,  to  be  faithful '  to  my  client  and  my  con- 
science, I  earnestly  hope  will  be  my  first  endeavor."  How  ex- 
ceedingly astonished  would  these  affectionate  young  friends  have 
been,  if  they  could  have  looked  forward  forty  years,  and  seen  the 
timid  law-student  Secretary  of  State,  and  his  ardent  young  com- 
rade a  clerk  in  his  department.  They  seemed  equals  in  1802; 
in  1845,  they  had  grown  so  far  apart,  that  the  excellent  Bingram 
writes  to  Webster  as  to  a  demigod, 


72  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

In  these  pleasant  early  letters  of  Daniel  Webster  there  are  a 
thousand  evidences  of  a  good  heart  and  of  virtuous  habits,  but 
not  one  of  a  superior  understanding.  The  total  absence  of  the 
sceptical  spirit  marks  the  secondary  mind.  For  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  no  young  man  of  a  truly  eminent  intellect  has  ac- 
cepted his  father's  creeds  without  having  first  called  them  into 
question;  and  this  must  be  so  in  periods  of  transition.  The 
glorious  light  which  has  been  coming  upon  Christendom  for  the 
last  two  hundred  years,  and  which  is  now  beginning  to  pervade 
the  remotest  provinces  of  it,  never  illumined  the  mind  of  Daniel 
Webster.  Upon  coming  of  age,  he  joined  the  Congregational 
Church,  and  was  accustomed  to  open  his  school  with  an  extem- 
pore prayer.  He  used  the  word  "  Deist "  as  a  term  of  reproach ; 
he  deemed  it  "  criminal "  in  Gibbon  to  write  his  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  chapters,  and  spoke  of  that  author  as  a  "  learned,  proud, 
ingenious,  foppish,  vain,  self-deceived  man,"  who  "  from  Protes- 
tant connections  deserted  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  thence  to 
the  faith  of  Tom  Paine."  And  he  never  delivered  himself  from 
this  narrowness  and  ignorance.  In  the  time  of  his  celebrity,  he 
preferred  what  Sir  Walter  Scott  called  "  the  genteeler  religion  of 
the  two,"  the  Episcopal.  In  his  old  age,  his  idea  of  a  proper 
sermon  was  incredibly  narrow  and  provincial.  He  is  reported 
to  have  said,  late  in  life :  — 

"  Many  of  the  ministers  of  the  present  day  take  their  text  from  St. 
Paul,  and  preach  from  the  newspapers.  When  they  do  so,  I  prefer  to 
enjoy  my  own  thoughts  rather  than  to  listen.  I  want  my  pastor  to 
come  to  me  in  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel,  saying,  '  You  are  mortal !  your 
probation  is  brief;  your  work  must  be  done  speedily ;  you  are  im- 
mortal too.  You  are  hastening  to  the  bar  of  God ;  the  Judge  standeth 
before  the  door.'  When  I  am  thus  admonished,  I  have  no  dispositioi 
to  muse  or  to  sleep." 

This  does  not  accord  with  what  is  usually  observed  in  our 
churches,  where  sermons  of  the  kind  which  Mr.  Webster  extolled 
dispose  many  persons  to  sleep,  though  not  to  muse. 

In  the  same  unquestioning  manner,  he  imbibed  his  father's 
political  prejudices.  We  hear  this  young  Federalist  call  the 
Republican  party  "the  Jacobins,"  just  as  the  reactionists  and 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  73 

lories  of  the  piesent  day  speak  of  the  present  Republican  party 
as  "the  radicals."  It  is  amusing  to  hear  him,  in  1802,  predict 
the  speedy  restoration  to  power  of  a  party  that  was  never  again 
to  taste  its  sweets.  "  Jacobinism  and  iniquity,"  he  wrote  in  his 
twentieth  year,  "are  so  allied  in  signification,  that  the  latter 
always  follows  the  former,  just  as  in  grammar  '  the  accusative 
case  follows  the  transitive  verb.' "  He  speaks  of  a  young  friend 
as  "  too  honest  for  a  Democrat."  As  late  as  his  twenty-second 
year,  he  was  wholly  unreconciled  to  Napoleon,  and  still  wrote 
with  truly  English  scorn  of  "  Gallic  tastes  and  Gallic  principles." 
There  is  a  fine  burst  in  one  of  his  letters  of  1804,  when  he  had 
been  propelled  by  his  brother  to  Boston  to  finish  his  law  studies  :~- 

"  Jerome,  the  brother  of  the  Emperor  of  the  Gauls,  is  here ;  every 
day  you  may  see  him  whisking  along  Cornhill,  with  the  true  French  air, 
with  his  wife  by  his  side.  The  lads  say  that  they  intend  to  prevail  on 
American  misses  to  receive  company  in  future  after  the  manner  of 
Jerome's  wife,  that  is,  in  bed.  The  gentlemen  of  Boston  (i.  e.  we 
Feds)  treat  Monsieur  with  cold  and  distant  respect.  They  feel,  and 
every  honest  man  feels,  indignant  at  seeing  this  lordly  grasshopper,  this 
puppet  in  prince's  clothes,  dashing  through  the  American  cities,  luxuri- 
ously rioting  on  the  property  of  Dutch  mechanics  or  Swiss  peasants." 

This  last  sentence,  written  when  he  was  twenty-two  years  old, 
is  the  first  to  be  found  in  his  published  letters  which  tells  any- 
thing of  the  fire  that  was  latent  in  him.  He  was  of  slow  growth  ; 
he  was  forty-eight  years  of  age  before  his  powers  had  reached 
their  full  development. 

When  he  had  nearly  completed  his  studies  for  the  bar,  he  was 
again  upon  the  point  of  abandoning  the  laborious  career  of  a  law- 
yer for  a  life  of  obscurity  and  ease.  On  this  occasion,  it  was  the 
clerkship  of  his  father's  court,  salarv  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  that  tempted  him.  He  jumped  at  the  offer,  which  promised 
an  immediate  competency  for  the  whole  family,  pinched  and  anx- 
ious for  so  many  years.  He  had  no  thought  but  to  accept  it. 
With  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and  triumphant  joy  in  his  face,  he 
communicated  the  news  to  Mr.  Gore,  his  instructor  in  the  law  ; 
thinking  of  nothing,  he  tells  us,  but  of  "  rushing  to  the  immediate 
enjoyment  of  the  proffered  office."  Mr.  Gore,  howeV3i,  exhibited 
4 


74  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

a  provoking  coolness  on  the  subject.  He  said  it  was  very  civft 
in  the  judges  to  offer  such  a  compliment  to  a  brother  on  the 
bench,  and,  of  course,  a  respectful  letter  of  acknowledgment  must 
be  sent.  The  glowing  countenance  of  the  young  man  fell  at  these 
most  unexpected  and  unwelcome  words.  They  were,  to  use  his 
own  language,  "  a  shower-bath  of  ice-water."  The  old  lawyer, 
observing  his  crestfallen  condition,  reasoned  seriously  with  him, 
and  persuaded  him,  against  his  will,  to  continue  his  preparation 
for  the  bar.  At  every  turning-point  of  his  life,  whenever  he 
came  to  a  parting  of  the  ways,  one  of  which  must  be  chosen  and 
the  other  forsaken,  he  required  an  impulse  from  without  to  push 
him  into  the  path  he  was  to  go.  Except  once  !  Once  in  his 
long  public  life,  he  seemed  to  venture  out  alone  on  an  unfamiliar 
road,  and  lost  himself.  Usually,  when  great  powers  are  conferred 
on  a  man,  there  is  also  given  him  a  strong  propensity  to  exercise 
them,  sufficient  to  carry  him  through  all  difficulties  to  the  suitable 
sphere.  Here,  on  the  conti-ary,  there  was  a  Great  Eastern  with 
only  a  Cunarder's  engine,  and  it  required  a  tug  to  get  the  great 
ship  round  to  her  course. 

Admitted  to  the  bar  in  his  twenty-third  year,  he  dutifully  went 
home  to  his  father,  and  opened  an  office  in  a  New  Hampshire  vil- 
lage near  by,  resolved  never  again  to  leave  the  generous  old  man 
while  he  lived.  Before  leaving  Boston,  he  wrote  to  his  friend 
Bingham,  "  If  I  am  not  earning  my  bread  ^rfa  cheese  in  exactly 
nine  days  after  my  admission,  I  shall  certainly  be  a  bankrupt  "  ; 
—  and  so,  indeed,  it  proved.  With  great  difficulty,  he  "  hired  " 
eighty-five  dollars  as  a  capital  to  begin  business  with,  and  this 
great  sum  was  immediately  lost  in  its  transit  by  stage.  To  any 
other  young  man  in  his  situation,  such  a  calamity  would  have 
been,  for  the  moment,  crushing  ;  but  this  young  man,  indifferent 
to  meum  as  to  tuum,  informs  his  brother  that  he  can  in  no  con- 
ceivable way  replace  the  money,  cannot  therefore  pay  for  the 
books  he  had  bought,  believes  he  is  earning  his  daily  bread,  and 
as  to  the  loss,  he  has  "  no  uneasy  sensations  on  that  account"  He 
concludes  his  letter  with  an  old  song,  beginning, 

*'  Fol  de  dol,  dol  de  dol,  di  dol, 
I'll  never  make  money  my  idol." 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  75 

In  the  New  Hampshire  of  1805  there  was  no  such  thing  pos- 
sible as  leaping  at  once  into  a  lucrative  practice,  nor  even  oi 
slowly  acquiring  it  A  country  lawyer  who  gained  a  thousand 
dollars  a  year  was  among  the  most  successful,  and  the  leader  of 
the  bar  in  New  Hampshire  could  not  earn  two  thousand:  The 
chief  employment  of  Daniel  Webster,  during  the  first  year  or 
two  of  his  practice,  was  collecting  debts  due  in  New  Hampshire 
to  merchants  in  Boston.  His  first  tin  sign  has  been  preserved 
to  the  present  day,  to  attest  by  its  minuteness  and  brevity  the 
humble  expectations  of  its  proprietor.  "  D.  Webster,  Attorney," 
is  the  inscription  it  bears.  The  old  Court-House  still  stands  in 
which  he  conducted  his  first  suit,  before  his  own  father  as  pre- 
siding judge.  Old  men  in  that  part  of  New  Hampshire  were  liv- 
ing until  within  these  few  years,  who  remembered  well  seeing 
this  tall,  gaunt,  and  large-eyed  young  lawyer  rise  slowly,  as 
though  scarcely  able  to  get  upon  his  feet,  and  giving  to  every  one 
the  impression  that  he  would  soon  be  obliged  to  sit  down  from 
mere  physical  weakness,  and  saying  to  his  father,  for  the  first  and 
last  time,  "  May  it  please  your  Honor."  The  sheriff  of  the  coun- 
ty, who  was  also  a  Webster,  used  to  say  that  he  felt  ashamed  to 
see  the  family  represented  at  the  bar  by  so  lean  and  feeble  a 
young  man.  The  tradition  is,  that  he  acquitted  himself  so  well 
on  this  occasion  that  the  sheriff  was  satisfied,  and  clients  came, 
with  their  little  suits  and  smaller  fees,  in  considerable  numbers, 
to ,  the  office  of  D.  Webster,  Attorney,  who  thenceforth  in  the 
country  round  went  by  the  name  of  "  All-eyes."  His  father  nev- 
er heard  him  speak  again.  He  lived  to  see  Daniel  in  successful 
practice,  and  Ezekiel  a  student  of  law,  and  died  in  180G,  prema- 
turely old.  Daniel  Webster  practised  three  years  in  the  country, 
and  then,  resigning  his  business  to  his  brother,  established  him- 
self at  Portsmouth,  the  seaport  of  New  Hampshire,  then  a  place 
of  much  foreign  commerce.  Ezekiel  had  had  a  most  desperate 
struggle  with  poverty.  At  one  time,  when  the  family,  as  Daniel 
observed,  was  "  heinously  unprovided,"  we  see  the  much-endur- 
ing "  Zeke  "  teaching  an  Academy  by  day,  an  evening  school  for 
Bailors,  and  keeping  well  up  with  his  class  in  college  besides. 
But  these  preliminary  troubles  were  now  at  an  end,  and  both 


76  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

the  brothers  took  the  places  won  by  so  much  toil  and  self 
sacrifice. 

Those  are  noble  old  towns  on  the  New  England  coast,  the 
commerce  of  which  Boston  swallowed  up  forty  years  ago,  while 
it  left  behind  many  a  large  and  liberally  provided  old  mansion, 
with  a  family  in  it  enriched  by  ventures  to  India  and  China. 
Strangers  in  Portsmouth  are  still  struck  by  the  largeness  and 
elegance  of  the  residences  there,  and  wonder  how  such  establish- 
ments can  be  maintained  in  a  place  that  has  little  "  visible  means 
of  support."  It  was  while  Portsmouth  was  an  important  seaport 
that  Daniel  Webster  learned  and  practised  law  there,  and 
acquired  some  note  as  a  Federalist  politician. 

The  once  celebrated  Dr.  Buckminster  was  the  minister  of  the 
Congregational  church  at  Portsmouth  then.  One  Sunday  morn- 
ing in  1808,  his  eldest  daughter  sitting  alone  in  the  minister's 
pew,  a  strange  gentleman  was  shown  into  it,  whose  appearance 
and  demeanor  strongly  arrested  her  attention.  The  slenderness 
of  his  frame,  the  pale  yellow  of  his  complexion,  and  the  raven 
blackness  of  'his  hair,  seemed  only  to  bring  out  into  grander 
relief  his  ample  forehead,  and  to  heighten  the  effect  of  his  deep- 
set,  brilliant  eyes.  At  this  period  of  his  life  there  was  an  air  <>f 
delicacy  and  refinement  about  his  face,  joined  to  a  kind 
of  strength  that  women  can  admire,  without  fearing.  Miss  Buck- 
minster  told  the  family,  when  she  went  home  from  church,  that 
there  had  been  a  remarkable  person  with  her  in  the  pew,  —  one 
that  she  was  sure  had  "  a  marked  character  for  good  or  evil."  A 
few  days  after,  the  remarkable  person  came  to  live  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  was  soon  introduced  to  the  minister's  family  as  Mr. 
Daniel  Webster,  from  Franklin,  New  Hampshire,  who  was  about 
to  open  a  law  office  in  Portsmouth.  He  soon  endeared  himself 
to  every  person  in  the  minister's  circle,  and  to  no  one  more  than 
to  the  minister  himself,  who,  among  other  services,  taught  him 
the  art  of  preserving  his  health.  The  young  man,  like  the  old 
clergyman,  was  an  early  riser,  up  with  the  dawn  in  summer,  and 
long  before  the  dawn  in  winter ;  and  both  were  out  of  doors  with 
the  sun,  each  at  one  end  of  a  long  saw,  cutting  wood  for  an  appe- 
tite. The  joyous,  uncouth  singing  and  shouting  of  the  new 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  77 

comer  aroused  the  late  sleepers.  Then  in  to  breakfast,  where 
the  homely,  captivating  humor  of  the  young  lawyer  kept  the 
table  in  a  roar,  and  detained  every  inmate.  "  Never  was  there 
such  an  actor  lost  to  the  stage,"  Jeremiah  Mason,  his  only 
rival  at  the  New  Hampshire  bar,  used  to  say,  "  as  he  would  have 
made."  Returning  in  the  afternoon  from  court,  fatigued  and 
languid,  his  spirits  rose  again  with  food  and  rest,  and  the  evening 
was  another  festival  of  conversation  and  reading.  A  few  months 
after  his  settlement  at  Portsmouth  he  visited  his  native  hills, 
saying  nothing  respecting  the  object  of  his  journey;  and  re- 
turned with  a  wife,  —  that  gentle  and  high-bred  lady,  a  clergy- 
man's daughter,  who  was  the  chief  source  of  the  happiness  of 
his  happiest  years,  and  the  mother  of  all  his  children.  He  im- 
proved in  health,  his  form  expanded,  his  mind  grew,  his  talents 
ripened,  his  fame  spread,  during  the  nine  years  of  his  residence 
at  this  thriving  and  pleasant  town. 

At  Portsmouth,  too,  he  had  precisely  that  external  stimulus  to 
exertion  which  his  large  and  pleasure-loving  nature  needed. 
Jeremiah  Mason  was,  literally  speaking,  the  giant  of  the  Amer- 
ican bar,  for  he  stood  six  feet  seven  indies  in  his  stockings.  Like 
Webster,  he  was  the  son  of  a  valiant  Revolutionary  officer ;  like 
Webster,  he  was  an  hereditary  Federalist ;  like  Webster,  he  had 
a  great  mass  of  brain :  but  his  mind  was  more  active  and  acquis- 
itive than  Webster's,  and  his  nineteen  years  of  arduous  practice 
at  the  bar  had  stored  his  memory  with  knowledge  and  given  him 
dexterity  in  the  use  of  it.  Nothing  shows  the  eminence  of  Web- 
ster's talents  more  than  this,  that,  very  early  in  his  Portsmouth 
career,  he  should  have  been  regarded  at  the  bar  of  New  Hamp- 
shire as  the  man  to  be  employed  against  Jeremiah  Mason,  and 
his  only  fit  antagonist.  Mason  was  a  vigilant,  vigorous  opponent, 
—  sure  to  be  well  up  in  the  law  and  the  facts  of  a  cause,  sure  to 
detect  a  flaw  in  the  argument  }f  opposing  counsel.  It  was  in 
keen  encounters  with  this  wary  and  learned  man  that  Daniel 
Webster  learned  his  profession ;  and  this  he  always  acknowl- 
edged. "If,"  he  said  once  in  conversation,  —  "  if  anybody  thinks 
T  am  somewhat  familiar  with  the  law  on  some  points,  and  should 
be  curious  to  know  how  it  happened,  tell  him  that  Jeremiah 


78  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Mason  compelled  me  to  study  it.  He  was  my  master."  It  is 
honorable,  too,  to  both  of  them,  that,  rivals  as  they  were,  they 
were  fast  and  affectionate  friends,  each  valuing  in  the  other  the 
qualities  in  which  he  was  surpassed  by  him,  and  each  sincerely 
believing  that  the  other  was  the  first  man  of  his  time  and  coun- 
try. "They  say,"  in  Portsmouth,  that  Mason  did  not  shrink 
from  remonstrating  with  his  friend  upon  his  carelessness  with 
regard  to  money;  but,  finding  the  habit  inveterate  and  the  man 
irresistible,  desisted.  Webster  himself  says  that  two  thousand 
dollars  a  year  was  all  that  the  best  practice  in  New  Hampshire 
could  be  made  to  yield ;  and  that  that  was  inadequate  to  the  sup- 
port of  his  family  of  a  wife  and  three  little  children.  Two 
thousand  dollars  in  Portsmouth,  in  1812,  was  certainly  equal,  in 
purchasing  power,  to  six  thousand  of  the  ineffectual  things  that 
now  pass  by  the  name  of  dollars ;  and  upon  such  an  income  large 
families  in  a  country  town  contrive  to  live,  ride,  and  save. 

He  was  a  strenuous  Federalist  at  Portsmouth,  took  a  leading 
part  in  the  public  meetings  of  the  party,  and  won  great  distinc- 
tion as  its  frequent  Fourth-of-July  orator.  All  those  mild  and 
economical  measures  by  which  Mr.  Jefferson  sought  to  keep 
the  United  States  from  being  drawn  into  the  roaring  vortex  of 
the  great  wars  in  Europe,  he  opposed,  and  favored  the  policy  of 
preparing  the  country  for  defence,  not  by  gunboats  and  embar- 
goes, but  by  a  powerful  navy  of  frigates  and  ships  of  the  line. 
His  Fourth-of-July  orations,  if  we  may  judge  of  them  by  the 
fragments  that  have  been  found,  show  that  his  mind  had  strength- 
ened more  than  it  had  advanced.  His  style  wonderfully  improved 
frpm  eighteen  to  twenty-five ;  and  he  tells  us  himself  why  it  did. 
He  discovered,  he  says,  that  the  value,  as  well  as  the  force,  of  a 
sentence,  depends  chiefly  upon  its  meaning,  not  its  language ; 
and  that  great  writing  is  that  in  which  much  is  said  in  few  words, 
and  those  words  the  simplest  that  will  answer  the  purpose. 
Having  made  this  notable  discovery,  he  became  a  great  eraser  of 
adjectives,  and  toiled  after  simplicity  and  directness.  Mr  Everett 
quotes  a  few  sentences  from  his  Fourth-of-July  oration  of  1806, 
when  he  was  twenty-four,  which  shows  an  amazing  advance  upon 
the  effort  of  his  eighteenth  year,  quoted  above :  — 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  79 

"  Nothing  w  plainer  than  this :  if  we  will  have  commerce,  we  must 
protect  it.  This  country  is  commercial  as  well  as  agricultural.  Indis- 
goluble  bonds  connect  him  who  ploughs  the  land  with  him  who  ploughs  the 
sea.  Nature  has  placed  us  in  a  situation  favorable  to  commercial  pur- 
suits, and  no  government  can  alter  the  destination.  Habits  confirmed 
by  two  centuries  are  not  to  be  changed.  An  immense  portion  of  our 
property  is  on  the  waves.  Sixty  or  eighty  thousand  of  our  most  useful 
citizens  are  there,  and  are  entitled  to  such  protection  from  the  govern- 
ment as  their  case  requires." 

How  different  this  compact  directness  from  the  tremendous 
fulmination  of  the  Dartmouth  junior,  who  said :  — 

"  Columbia  stoops  not  to  tyrants ;  her  spirit  will  never  cringe  to 
France ;  neither  a  supercilious,  five-headed  Directory  nor  the  gascon- 
ading pilgrim  of  Egypt  will  ever  dictate  terms  to  sovereign  America. 
The  thunder  of  our  cannon  shall  insure  the  performance  of  our  treaties, 
and  fulminate  destruction  on  Frenchmen,  till  the  ocean  is  crimsoned 
with  blood  and  gorged  with  pirates  !  " 

The  Fourth-of-July  oration,  which  afterwards  fell  into  some 
disrepute,  had  great  importance  in  the  earlier  years  of  the  Re- 
public, when  Revolutionary  times  and  perils  were  fresh  in  the 
recollection  of  the  people.  The  custom  arose  of  assigning  this 
duty  to  young  men  covetous  of  distinction,  and  this  led  in  time 
to  the  flighty  rhetoric  which  made  sounding  emptiness  and  a 
Fourth-of-July  oration  synonymous  terms.  The  feeling  that 
was  real  and  spontaneous  in  the  sons  of  Revolutionary  soldiers 
was  sometimes  feigned  or  exaggerated  in  the  young  law  students 
of  the  next  generation,  who  had  merely  read  the  history  of  the 
Revolution.  But  with  all  the  faults  of  those  compositions,  they 
were  eminently  serviceable  to  the  country.  We  believe  that  to 
them  is  to  be  attributed  a  considerable  part  of  that  patriotic  feel- 
ing which,  after  a  suspended  animation  of  several  years,  awoke 
in  the  spring  of  1861  and  asserted  itself  with  such  unexpected 
power,  and  which  sustained  the  country  during  four  years  of  a 
peculiarly  disheartening  war.  How  pleasant  and  spirit-stirring 
was  a  celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July  as  it  was  conducted  in 
Webster's  early  day !  We  trust  the  old  customs  will  be  revived 
and  improved  upon,  and  become  universal.  Nor  is  it  any  objeo 


80  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

tion  to  the  practice  of  having  an  oration,  that  the  population  is 
too  large  to  be  reached  in  that  way ;  for  if  only  a  thousand  hear, 
a  million  may  read.  Nor  ought  we  to  object  if  the  orator  is  a 
little  more  flowery  and  boastful  than  becomes  an  ordinary  occa- 
sion. There  is  a  time  to  exult ;  there  is  a  time  to  abandon  our- 
selves to  pleasant  recollections  and  joyous  hopes.  Therefore,  we 
say,  let  the  young  men  reappear  upon  the  platform,  and  show 
what  metal  they  are  made  of  by  giving  the  best  utterance  they 
can  to  the  patriotic  feelings  of  the  people  on  the  national  anniver- 
sary. The  Republic  is  safe  so  long  as  we  celebrate  that  day  in 
the  spirit  of  1776  and  1861. 

At  least  we  may  assert  that  it  was  Mr.  Webster's  Fourth-of- 
July  orations,  of  which  he  delivered  five  in  eleven  years,  that 
first  made  him  known  to  the  people  of  New  Hampshire.  At 
that  period  the  two  political  parties  could  not  unite  in  the  cele- 
bration of  the  day,  and  accordingly  the  orations  of  Mr.  Webster 
had  much  in  them  that  could  be  agreeable  only  to  Federalists. 
He  was  an  occasional  speaker,  too,  in  those  years,  at  meetings  of 
Federalists,  where  his  power  as  an  orator  was  sometimes  exerted 
most  effectively.  No  speaker  could  be  better  adapted  to  a  New 
England  audience,  accustomed  from  of  old  to  weighty,  argumen- 
tative sermons,  delivered  with  deliberate,  unimpassioned  earnest- 
ness. There  are  many  indications  that  a  speech  by  Daniel  Web- 
ster in  Portsmouth  in  1810  excited  as  much  expectation  and 
comment  as  A  speech  by  the  same  person  in  the  Senate  twenty 
years  after.  But  he  was  a  mere  Federalist  partisan,  —  no  more. 
It  does  not  appear  that  he  had  anything  to  offer  to  his  country- 
men beyond  the  stately  expression  of  party  issues  ;  and  it  was  as 
a  Federalist,  pure  and  simple,  that  he  was  elected,  in  1812,  a 
member  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  after  a  keenly  con- 
tested party  conflict.  His  majority  over  the  Republican  candi- 
date was  2,546,  —  the  whole  number  of  voters  being  34,648. 

The  Federalists,  from  1801  to  1825,  were  useful  to  the  coun- 
try only  as  an  Opposition,  — just  as  the  present  Tory  party  hi 
England  can  be  only  serviceable  in  its  capacity  of  critic  and  hold- 
back. The  Federalists  under  John  Adams  had  sinned  past  for- 
giveness ;  while  the  Republican  party,  strong  in  being  right,  ir 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  81 

the  ability  of  its  chiefs,  in  its  alliance  with  Southern  aristocrats, 
and  in  having  possession  of  the  government,  was  strong  also  in 
the  odium  and  inconsistencies  of  its  opponents.  Nothing  could 
shake  the  confidence  of  the  people  in  the  administration  of 
Thomas  Jefferson.  But  the  stronger  a  party  is,  the  more  it  needs 
an  Opposition,  —  as  we  saw  last  winter  in  Washington,  when  the 
minority  was  too  insignificant  in  numbers  and  ability  to  keep  the 
too  powerful  majority  from  doing  itself  such  harm  as  might  have 
been  fatal  to  it  but  for  the  President's  well-timed  antics.  Next 
to  a  sound  and  able  majority,  the  great  need  of  a  free  country  is 
a  vigorous,  vigilant,  audacious,  numerous  minority.  Better  a 
factious  and  unscrupulous  minority  than  none  at  all.  The  Fed- 
eralists, who  could  justly  claim  "to  have  among  them  a  very  large 
proportion  of  the  rich  men  and  the  educated  men  of  the  country, 
performed  the  humble  but  useful  service  of  keeping  an  eye  upon 
the  measures  of  the  administration,  and  finding  fault  with  every 
one  of  them.  Daniel  Webster,  however,  was  wont  to  handle 
only  the  large  topics.  While  Mr.  Jefferson  was  struggling  to 
keep  the  peace  with  Great  Britain,  he  censured  the  policy  as 
timorous,  costly,  and  ineffectual ;  but  when  Mr.  Madison  declared 
war  against  that  power,  he  deemed  the  act  unnecessary  and  rash. 
His  opposition  to  the  war  was  never  carried  to  the  point  of  giving 
aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy ;  it  was  such  an  opposition  as  patri- 
otic "  War  Democrats  "  exhibited  during  the  late  Rebellion,  who 
thought  the  war  might  have  been  avoided,  and  ought  to  be  con- 
ducted more  vigorously,  but  nevertheless  stood  by  their  country 
without  a  shadow  of  swerving. 

He  could  boast,  too,  that  from  his  boyhood  to  the  outbreak  of 
the  war  he  had  advocated  the  building  of  the  very  ships  which 
gave  the  infant  nation  its  first  taste  of  warlike  glory.  The  Re- 
publicans of  that  time,  forgetful  of  what  Paul  Jones  and  others 
of  Dr.  Franklin's  captains  had  done  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution, 
supposed  that,  because  England  had  a  thousand  ships  in  commis- 
sion, and  America  only  seventeen,  therefore  an  American  ship 
could  not  venture  out  of  a  harbor  without  being  taken.  We  have 
often  laughed  at  Colonel  Benton's  ludicrous  confession  of  his  own 
terrors  on  this  subject. 

4*  V 


82  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

"  Political  men,"  he  says,  "  believed  nothing  could  be  done  at  soa  but 
to  lose  the  few  vessels  which  we  had ;  that  even  cruising  was  out  of 
the  question.  Of  our  seventeen  vessels,  the  whole  were  in  port  but 
one ;  and  it  was  determined  to  keep  them  there,  and  the  one  at  sea 
with  them,  if  it  had  the  luck  to  get  in.  I  am  under  no  obligation  to 
make  the  admission,  but  I  am  free  to  acknowledge  that  I  was  one  of 
those  who  supposed  that  there  was  no  salvation  for  our  seventeen  men- 
of-war  but  to  run  them  as  far  up  the  creek  as  possible,  place  them  un- 
der the  guns  of  batteries,  and  collect  camps  of  militia  about  them  to 
keep  off  the  British.  This  was  the  policy  at  the  day  of  the  declara- 
tion of  the  war ;  and  I  have  the  less  concern  to  admit  myself  to  have 
been  participator  in  the  delusion,  because  I  claim  the  merit  of  having 
profited  from  experience,  —  happy  if  I  could  transmit  the  lesson  to 
posterity.  Two  officers  came  to  Washington,  —  Bainbridge  and  Stew- 
art. They  spoke  with  Mr.  Madison,  and  urged  the  feasibility  of  cruis- 
ing. One  half  of  the  whole  number  of  the  British  men-of-war  were 
under  the  class  of  frigates,  consequently  no  more  than  matches  for 
Borne  of  our  seventeen ;  the  whole  of  her  merchant  marine  (many  thou- 
sands) were  subject  to  capture.  Here  was  a  rich  field  for  cruising ; 
and  the  two  officers,  for  themselves  and  brothers,  boldly  proposed  to 
enter  it. 

"  Mr.  Madison  had  seen  the  efficiency  of  cruising  and  privateering, 
even  against  Great  Britain,  and  in  our  then  infantile  condition,  during 
the  war  of  the  Revolution  ;  and  besides  was  a  man  of  sense,  and  amen- 
able to  judgment  and  reason.  He  listened  to  the  two  experienced  and 
valiant  officers  ;  and  without  consulting  Congress,  which  perhaps  would 
have  been  a  fatal  consultation  (for  multitude  of  counsellors  is  not  the 
counsel  for  bold  decision),  reversed  the  policy  which  had  been  resolved 
upon ;  and,  in  his  supreme  character  of  constitutional  commander  of 
the  army  and  navy,  ordered  every  ship  that  could  cruise  to  get  to  sea 
as  soon  as  possible.  This  I  had  from  Mr.  Monroe." 

This  is  a  curious  example  of  the  blinding  effect  of  partisan 
strife,  and  of  the  absolute  need  of  an  Opposition.  It  was  the 
hereditary  prejudice  of  the  Republicans  against  the  navy,  as  an 
"  aristocratic "  institution,  and  the  hereditary  love  of  the  navy 
cherished  by  the  Federalists  as  being  something  stable  and  Brit- 
ish, that  enlivened  the  debates  of  the  war.  The  Federalists  had 
their  way,  but  failed  to  win  a  partisan  advantage  from  the  fact, 
through  their  factious  opposition  to  the  military  measures  of  the 
administration.  Because  the  first  attempt  at  the  seizure  of  Can 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  83 

ada  had  failed  through  the  incompetency  of  General  Hull,  which 
no  wisdom  of  man  could  have  foreseen,  Daniel  Webster  called 
upon  the  government  to  discontinue  all  further  attempts  on  the 
land,  and  fight  the  war  out  on  the  sea.  "  Give  up  your  futile 
projects  of  invasion,"  said  he  in  1814.  "  Extinguish  the  fires 
that  blaze  on  your  inland  borders."  "  Unclench  the  iron  grasp 
of  your  embargo."  "  With  all  the  war  of  the  enemy  on  your 
commerce,  if  you  would  cease  to  make  war  upon  it  yourselves, 
you  would  still  have  some  commerce.  That  commerce  would 
give  you  some  revenue.  Apply  that  revenue  to  the  augmentation 
of  your  navy.  That  navy,  in  turn,  will  protect  your  commerce." 
In  war  time,  however,  there  are  two  powers  that  have  to  do  with 
the  course  of  events ;  and  very  soon  the  enemy,  by  his  own  great 
scheme  of  invasion,  decided  the  policy  of  the  United  States. 
Every  port  was  blockaded  so  effectively  that  a  pilot-boat  could 
not  safely  go  out  of  sight  of  land,  and  a  frigate  was  captured 
within  sight  of  it.  These  vigilant  blockaders,  together  with  the 
threatening  armament  which  finally  attacked  New  Orleans,  com- 
pelled every  harbor  to  prepare  for  defence,  and  most  effectually 
refuted  Mr.  Webster's  speech.  The  "  blaze  of  glory  "  with  which 
the  war  ended  at  New  Orleans  consumed  all  the  remaining  pres- 
tige of  the  Federalist  party,  once  so  powerful,  so  respectable,  and 
BO  arrogant. 

A  member  of  the  anti-war  party  during  the  existence  of  a  war 
occupies  a  position  which  can  only  cease  to  be  insignificant  by  the 
misfortunes  of  his  country.  But  when  we  turn  from  the  partisan 
to  the  man,  we  perceive  that  Daniel  Webster  was  a  great  pres- 
ence in  the  House,  and  took  rank  immediately  with  the  half- 
dozen  ablest  debaters.  His  self-possession  was  perfect  at  all 
times,  and  at  thirty-three  he  was  still  in  the  spring  and  first  lustre 
of  his  powers.  His  weighty  and  deliberate  manner,  the  brevity, 
force,  and  point  of  his  sentences,  and  the  moderation  of  his  ges- 
tures, were  all  in  strong  contrast  to  the  flowing,  loose,  impassioned 
manner  of  the  Southern  orators,  who  ruled  the  House.  It  was 
something  like  coming  upon  a  stray  number  of  the  old  Edinburgh 
Review  in  a  heap  of  novels  and  Ladies'  Magazines.  Chief-Jus- 
tice Marshall,  who  heard  his  first  speech,  being  himself  a  Feder- 


84  DANIEL   WEBSTER. 

alist,  was  so  much  delighted  to  hear  his  own  opinions  expressed 
with  such  power  and  dignity,  that  he  left  the  House,  believing 
that  this  stranger  from  far-off  New  Hampshire  was  destined  to 
become,  as  he  said,  "  one  of  the  very  first  statesmen  of  America, 
and  perhaps  the  very  first."  His  Washington  fame  gave  him  new 
eclat  at  home.  He  was  re-elected,  and  came  back  to  Congress  in, 
1815,  to  aid  the  Federalists  in  preventing  the  young  Republicans 
from  being  too  Federal. 

This  last  sentence  slipped  from  the  pen  unawares  ;  but,  ridic- 
ulous as  it  looks,  it  does  actually  express  the  position  and  voca- 
tion of  the  Federalists  after  the  peace  of  1815.  Clay,  Calhoun, 
Story,  Adams,  and  the  Republican  majority  in  Congress,  taught 
by  the  disasters  of  the  war,  as  they  supposed,  had  embraced  the 
ideas  of  the  old  Federalist  party,  and  were  preparing  to  carry 
some  of  them  to  an  extreme.  The  navy  had  no  longer  an  enemy. 
The  strict  constructionists  had  dwindled  to  a  few  impracticables, 
headed  by  John  Randolph.  The  younger  Republicans  were  dis- 
posed to  a  liberal,  if  not  to  a  latitudinarian  construction  of  the 
Constitution.  In  short,  they  were  Federalists  and  Hamiltonians, 
bank  men,  tariff  men,  internal-improvement  men.  Then  was 
afforded  to  the  country  the  curious  spectacle  of  Federalists 
opposing  the  measures  which  had  been  among  the  rallying-cries 
of  their  party  for  twenty  years.  It  was  not  in  Daniel  "Webster's 
nature  to  be  a  leader ;  it  was  morally  impossible  for  him  to  dis- 
engage himself  from  party  ties.  This  exquisite  and  consummate 
artist  in  oratory,  who  could  give  such  weighty  and  brilliant 
expression  to  the  feelings  of  his  hearers  and  the  doctrines  of  his 
party,  had  less  originating  power,  whether  of  intellect  or  of  will, 
than  any  other  man  of  equal  eminence  that  ever  lived.  He  ad- 
hered to  the  fag  end  of  the  old  party,  until  it  was  absorbed, 
unavoidably,  with  scarcely  an  effort  of  its  own,  in  Adams  and 
Clay.  From  1815  to  1825  he  was  in  opposition,  and  in  opposi- 
tion to  old  Federalism  revived ;  and,  consequently,  we  believe 
that  posterity  will  decide  that  his  speeches  of  this  period  are  the 
only  ones  relating  to  details  of  policy  which  have  the  slightest 
permanent  value.  In  fact,  his  position  in  Congress,  as  a  member 
af  a  very  small  band  of  Federalists  who  had  no  hope  of  regain 


DANIEL  WEBSTEB.  85 

ing  power,  was  tbe  next  thing  to  being  independent,  and  he  made 
an  excellent  use  of  his  advantage. 

That  Bank  of  the  United  States,  for  example,  of  which,  in 
1832,  he  was  the  ablest  defender,  and  for  a  renewal  of  which  he 
strove  for  ten  years,  he  voted  against  in  1816;  and  for  reasons 
which  neither  he  nor  any  other  man  ever  refuted.  His  speeches 
criticising  the  various  bank  schemes  of  1815  and  1816  were 
serviceable  to  the  public,  and  made  the  bank,  as  finally  estab- 
lished, less  harmful  than  it  might  have  been. 

So  of  the  tariff.  On  this  subject,  too,  he  always  followed,  — 
never  led.  So  long  as  there  was  a  Federal  party,  he,  as  a  mem- 
ber of  it,  opposed  Mr.  Clay's  protective,  or  (as  Mr.  Clay  de- 
lighted to  term  it)  "American  system."  When,  in  1825,  the  few 
Federalists  in  the  House  voted  for  Mr.  Adams,  and  were  merged 
in  the  "  conservative  wing "  of  the  Republican  party,  which 
became,  in  time,  the  Whig  party,  then,  and  from  that  time  for- 
ward to  the  end  of  his  life,  he  was  a  protectionist.  His  anti-pro- 
tection speech  of  1824  is  wholly  in  the  modern  spirit,  and  takes 
precisely  the  ground  since  taken  by  Ricardo,  John  Stuart  Mill, 
and  others  of  the  new  school.  It  is  so  excellent  a  statement  of 
the  true  policy  of  the  United  States  with  regard  to  protection, 
that  we  have  often  wondered  it  has  been  allowed  to  sleep  so 
long  in  the  tomb  of  his  works.  And,  oh !  from  what  evils  might 
we  have  been  spared,  —  nullification,  surplus-revenue  embarrass- 
ments, hot-bed  manufactures,  clothing  three  times  its  natural 
price,  —  if  the  protective  legislation  of  Congress  had  been 
inspired  by  the  Webster  of  1824,  instead  of  the  Clay !  Unim- 
portant as  this  great  speech  may  now  seem,  as  it  lies  uncut  in 
the  third  volume  of  its  author's  speeches,  its  unturned  leaves 
sticking  together,  yet  we  can  say  of  it,  that  the  whole  course  of 
American  history  had  been  different  if  its  counsels  had  been 
followed.  The  essence  of  the  speech  is  contained  in  two  of  ita 
phrases :  "  Freedom  of  trade,  the  general  principle ;  restriction, 
the  exception."  Free  trade,  the  object  to  be  aimed  at ;  protec- 
tion, a  temporary  expedient  Free  trade,  the  interest  of  all 
nations ;  protection,  the  occasional  necessity  of  one.  Free  trade, 
the  final  and  universal  good ;  protection,  the  sometimes  neces^arv 


86  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

evil.     Free  trade,  as  soon  as  possible  and  as  complete  as  possi- 
ble ;  protection,  as  little  as  possible  and  as  short  as  possible. 

The  speech  was  delivered  in  reply  to  Mr.  Clay ;  and,  viewed 
merely  as  a  reply,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  one  more  trium- 
phant. Mr.  Webster  was  particularly  happy  in  turning  Mr. 
Clay's  historical  illustrations  against  him,  especially  those  drawn 
from  the  history  of  the  English  silk  manufacture,  and  the  Spanish 
system  of  restriction  and  prohibition.  Admitting  fully  that  manu- 
factures the  most  unsuited  to  the  climate,  soil,  and  genius  of  a 
country  could  be  created  by  protection,  he  showed  that  such  man- 
ufactures were  not,  upon  the  whole,  and  in  the  long  run,  a  bene- 
fit to  a  country ;  and  adduced,  for  an  illustration,  the  very  instance 
cited  by  Mr.  Clay,  —  the  silk  manufacture  of  England,  —  which 
kept  fifty  thousand  persons  in  misery,  and  necessitated  the  con- 
tinuance of  a  kind  of  legislation  which  the  intelligence  of  Great 
Britain  had  outgrown.  Is  not  the  following  brief  passage  an  al- 
most exhaustive  statement  of  the  true  American  policy  ? 

"  I  know  it  would  be  very  easy  to  promote  manufactures,  at  least  for 
a  time,  but  probably  for  a  short  time  only,  if  we  might  act  in  disregard 
of  other  interests.  We  could  cause  a  sudden  transfer  of  capital  and  a 
violent  change  in  the  pursuits  of  men.  We  could  exceedingly  benefit 
some  classes  by  these  means.  But  what  then  becomes  of  the  interests 
of  others?  The  power  of  collecting  revenue  by  duties  on  imports, 
and  the  habit  of  the  government  of  collecting  almost  its  whole  revenue 
in  that  mode,  will  enable  us,  without  exceeding  the  bounds  of  modera- 
tion, to  give  great  advantages  to  those  classes  of  manufactures  which 
we  may  think  most  useful  to  promote  at  home." 

One  of  his  happy  retorts  upon  Mr.  Clay  was  the  following :  — 

"  I  will  be  so  presumptuous  as  to  take  up  a  challenge  which  Mr. 
Speaker  has  thrown  down.  He  has  asked  us,  in  a  tone  of  interrogatory 
indicative  of  the  feeling  of  anticipated  triumph,  to  mention  any  coun- 
try in  which  manufactures  have  flourished  without  the  aid  of  prohibi- 
tory laws Sir,  I  am  ready  to  answer  this  inquiry. 

"There  is  a  country,  not  undistinguished  among  the  nations,  in 
which  the  progress  of  manufactures  has  been  more  rapid  than  in  any 
other,  and  yet  unaided  by  prohibitions  or  unnatural  restrictions.  That 
country,  the  happiest  which  the  sun  shines  on,  is  our  own." 

Again,  Mr.  Clay  had  made  the  rash  remark  that  it  would  cost 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  87 

rtiu  nation,  as  a  nation,  nothing  to  convert  our  ore  into  iron.  Mr. 
Webster's  reply  to  this  seems  to  us  eminently  worthy  of  consider- 
ation at  the  present  moment,  and  at  every  moment  when  the  tariff 
is  a  topic  of  debate. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  it  would  cost  us  precisely  what  we  can  least 

afford,  that  is,  great  labor Of  manual  labor  no  nation  has  more 

than  a  certain  quantity ;  nor  can  it  be  increased  at  will A  most 

important  question  for  every  nation,  as  well  as  for  every  individual,  to 
propose  to  itself,  is,  how  it  can  best  apply  that  quantity  of  labor  which 

it  is  able  to  perform Now,  with  respect  to  the  quantity  of  labor, 

as  we  all  know,  different  nations  are  differently  circumstanced.  Some 
need,  more  than  anything,  work  for  hands ;  others  require  hands  for 
work;  and  if  we  ourselves  are  not  absolutely  in  the  latter  class,  we  are 
still,  most  fortunately,  very  near  it." 

The  applicability  of  these  observations  to  the  present  condition 
of  affairs  in  the  United  States  —  labor  very  scarce,  and  protec- 
tionists clamoring  to  make  it  scarcer — must  be  apparent  to  every 
reader. 

But  this  was  the  last  of  Mr.  Webster's  efforts  in  behalf  of  the 
freedom  of  trade.  In  the  spring  of  1825,  when  it  devolved  upon 
the  House  of  Representatives  to  elect  a  President,  the  few  Fed- 
eralists remaining  in  the  House  became,  for  a  few  day?,  an  im- 
portant body.  Mr.  Webster  had  an  hereditary  love  for  the  house 
of  Adams ;  and  the  aged  Jefferson  himself  had  personally  warned 
him  against  Andrew  Jackson.  Webster  it  was  who,  in  an  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Adams,  obtained  such  assurances  as  determined 
the  Federalists  to  give  their  vote  for  the  New  England  candi- 
date ;  and  thus  terminated  the  existence  of  the  great  party  which 
Hamilton  had  founded,  with  which  Washington  had  sympathized, 
which  had  ruled  the  country  for  twelve  years,  and  maintained  a 
vigorous  and*  useful  opposition  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  Daniel 
Webster  was  in  opposition  no  longer.  He  was  a  defender  of  the 
administration  of  Adams  and  Clay,  supported  all  their  important 
measures,  and  voted  for,  nay,  advocated,  the  Tariff  Bill  of  1828, 
which  went  far  beyond  that  of  1824  in  its  protective  provisions. 
Taunted  with  such  a  remarkable  and  sudden  change  of  opinion, 
he  said  that,  New  England  having  been  compelled  by  the  act  of 


88  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

1824  to  transfer  a  large  part  of  her  capital  from  commerce  to 
manufactures,  he  was  bound,  as  her  representative,  to  demand 
the  continuance  of  the  system.  Few  persons,  probably,  who 
heard  him  give  this  reason  for  his  conversion,  believed  it  was 
the  true  one ;  and  few  will  ever  believe  it  who  shall  intimately 
know  the  transactions  of  that  winter  in  Washington.  But  if  it 
was  the  true  reason,  Mr.  Webster,  in  giving  it,  ruled  himself  out 
of  the  rank  of  the  Great,  —  who,  in  every  age  and  land,  lead, 
not  follow,  their  generation.  In  his  speech  of  1824  he  objects  to 
the  protective  system  on  general  principles,  applicable  to  every 
case  not  clearly  exceptional ;  and  the  further  Congress  was  dis- 
posed to  carry  an  erroneous  system,  the  more  was  he  bound  to 
lift  up  his  voice  against  it.  It  seems  to  us  that,  when  he  aban- 
doned the  convictions  of  his  own  mind  and  took  service  under 
Mr.  Clay,  he  descended  (to  use  the  fine  simile  of  the  author  of 
"  Felix  Holt ")  from  the  rank  of  heroes  to  that  of  the  multitude 
for  whom  heroes  fight.  He  was  a  protectionist,  thenceforth,  as 
long  as  he  lived.  If  he  w#s  right  in  1824,  how  wrong  he  was  in 
1846!  In  1824  he  pointed  to  the  high  wages  of  American  me- 
chanics as  a  proof  that  the  protective  system  was  unnecessary ; 
and  he  might  have  quoted  Adam  Smith  to  show  that,  in  1770, 
wages  in*  the  Colonies  were  just  as  high,  compared  with  wages 
in  Europe,  as  in  1824.  In  1846  he  attributed  high  wages  in 
America  to  the  operation  of  the  protective  system.  In  1824 
free  trade  was  the  good,  and  restriction  the  evil ;  in  1846  restric- 
tion was  the  good,  and  free  trade  the  evil. 

Practical  wisdom,  indeed,  was  not  in  this  man.  He  was  not 
formed  to  guide,  but  to  charm,  impress,  and  rouse  mankind^ 
His  advocacy  of  the  Greek  cause,  in  1824,  events  have  shown  to 
be  unwise  ;  but  his  speech  on  this  subject  contains  some  passages 
BO  exceedingly  fine,  noble,  and  harmonious,  that  we  do  not  believe 
they  have  ever  been  surpassed  in  extempore  speech  by  any  man 
but  himself.  The  passage  upon  Public  Opinion,  for  example,  is 
always  read  with  delight,  even  by  those  who  can  call  to  mind  the 
greatest  number  of  instances  of  its  apparent  untruth. 

"  The  time  has  been,  indeed,  when  fleets,  and  armies,  and  subsidies 
were  the  principal  reliances,  even  in  the  best  cause.  But,  happily  for 


DANIEL  WEBSTEK.  89 

mankind,  a  great  change  has  taken  place  in  this  respect.  Moral  causes 
come  into  consideration  in  proportion  as  the  progress  of  knowledge  is 
advanced ;  and  the  public  opinion  of  the  civilized  world  is  rapidly 

gaining  an  ascendency  over  mere  brutal  force It  may  be  silenced 

by  military  power,  but  it  cannot  be  conquered.  It  is  elastic,  irrepressi- 
ble, and  invulnerable  to  the  weapons  of  ordinary  warfare.  It  is  that 
impassible,  unextinguishable  enemy  of  mere  violence  and  arbitrary  rule, 
which,  like  Milton's  angels, 

'  Vital  in  every  part,  .... 
Cannot,  but  by  annihilating,  die.' 

Until  this  be  propitiated  or  satisfied,  it  is  vain  for  power  to  talk 
either  of  triumphs  or  of  repose.  No  matter  what  fields  are  desolated, 
what  fortresses  surrendered,  what  armies  subdued,  or  what  provinces 

overrun There  is  an  enemy  that  still  exists  to  check  the  glory 

of  these  triumphs.  It  follows  the  conqueror  back  to  the  very  scene  of 
his  ovations ;  it  calls  upon  him  to  take  notice  that  Europe,  though  silent, 
is  yet  indignant ;  it  shows  him  that  the  sceptre  of  his  victory  is  a  barren 
sceptre  ;  that  it  shall  confer  neither  joy  nor  honor  ;  but  shall  moulder 
to  dry  ashes  in  his  grasp.  In  the  midst  of  his  exultation,  it  pierces  his 
ear  with  the  cry  of  injured  justice  ;  it  denounces  against  him  the  indig- 
nation of  an  enlightened  and  civilized  age ;  it  turns  to  bitterness  the 
cup  of  his  rejoicing,  and  wounds  him  with  the  sting  which  belongs  to 
the  consciousness  of  having  outraged  the  opinion  of  mankind."  — 
Works,  Vol.  HI.  pp.  77,  78. 

Yes  :  if  the  conqueror  had  the  moral  feeling  which  inspired 
this  passage,  and  if  the  cry  of  injured  justice  could  pierce  the 
flattering  din  of  office-seekers  surrounding  him.  But,  reading  the 
paragraph  as  the  expression  of  a  hope  of  what  may  one  day  be, 
how  grand  and  consoling  it  is !  The  information  given  in  this 
fine  oration  respecting  the  condition  of  Greece  and  the  history  of 
her  struggle  for  independence  was  provided  for  him  by  the  indus- 
try of  his  friend,  Edward  Everett. 

One  of  the  minor  triumphs  of  Mr  Webster's  early  Congres- 
sional life  was  his  conquest  of  the  heart  of  John  Randolph.  In 
the  course  of  a  debate  on  the  sugar  tax,  in  1816,  Mr.  Webster 
had  the  very  common  fortune  of  offending  the  irascible  member 
from  Virginia,  and  Mr.  Randolph,  as  his  custom  was,  demanded 
an  explanation  of  the  offensive  words.  Explanation  was  re- 
fused by  the  member  from  Massachusetts  ;  whereupon  Mr.  Ran* 


90  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

dolph  demanded  "  the  satisfaction  which  his  insulted  feelings  re- 
quired." Mr.  Webster's  reply  to  this  preposterous  demand  was 
everything  that  it  ought  to  have  been.  He  told  Mr.  Randolph 
that  he  had  no  right  to  an  explanation,  and  that  the  temper  and 
style  of  the  demand  were  such  as  to  forbid  its  being  conceded  as 
a  matter  of  courtesy.  He  denied,  too,  the  right  of  any  man  to 
call  him  to  the  field  for  what  he  might  please  to  consider  an  in- 
sult to  his  feelings,  although  he  should  be  "  always  prepared  to 
repel  in  a  suitable  manner  the  aggression  of  any  man  who  may 
presume  upon  such  a  refusal."  The  eccentric  Virginian  was  so 
much  pleased  with  Mr.  Webster's  bearing  upon  this  occasion,  that 
he  manifested  a  particular  regard  for  him,  and  pronounced  him  a 
very  able  man  for  a  Yankee. 

It  was  during  these  years  that  Daniel  Webster  became  dear, 
beyond  all  other  men  of  his  time,  to  the  people  of  New  England. 
Removing  to  Boston  in  1816,  and  remaining  out  of  Congress  for 
some  years,  he  won  the  first  place  at  the  New  England  bar,  and 
a  place  equal  to  the  foremost  at  the  bar  of  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  United  States.  Not  one  of  his  legal  arguments  has  been 
exactly  reported,  and  some  of  the  most  important  of  them  we 
possess  merely  in  outline ;  but  in  such  reports  as  we  have,  the 
weight  and  clearness  of  his  mind  are  abundantly  apparent.  In 
almost  every  argument  of  his,  there  can  be  found  digressions 
which  relieve  the  strained  attention  of  the  bench,  and  please  the 
unlearned  hearer;  and  he  had  a  happy  way  of  suddenly  crys- 
tallizing his  argument  into  one  luminous  phrase,  which  often 
seemed  to  prove  his  case  by  merely  stating  it.  Thus,  in  the 
Dartmouth  College  case,  he  made  a  rare  display  of  learning  (fur- 
nished him  by  associate  counsel,  he  tells  us)  ;  but  his  argument 
is  concentrated  in  two  of  his  simplest  sentences:  —  1.  The  en- 
dowment of  a  college  is  private  property ;  2.  The  charter  of  a 
college  is  that  which  constitutes  its  endowment  private  properly. 
The  Supreme  Court  accepted  these  two  propositions,  and  thus 
secured  to  every  college  in  the  country  its  right  to  its  endowment. 
This  seems  too  simple  for  argument,  but  it  cost  a  prodigious  and 
powerfully  contested  lawsuit  to  reduce  the  question  to  this  sim- 
plicity ;  and  it  was  Webster's  large,  cairn,  and  discriminating 


ttANIEL   WEBSTER.  91 

glance  which  detected  these  two  fundamental  truths  in  the  moun- 
tain mass  of  testimony,  argument,  and  judicial  decision.  In  ar- 
guing the  great  steamboat  case,  too,  he  displayed  the  same  quali- 
ties of  mind.  New  York  having  granted  to  Livingston  and 
Fulton  the  exclusive  right  to  navigate  her  waters  by  steamboats, 
certain  citizens  of  New  Jersey  objected,  and,  after  a  fierce  strug- 
gle upon  the  waters  themselves,  transferred  the  contest  to  the 
Supieme  Court.  Mr.  Webster  said:  "The  commerce  of  the 
United  States,  under  the  Constitution  of  1787,  is  a  unit,"  and 
"  what  we  call  the  waters  of  the  State  of  New  York  are,  for  the 
purposes  of  navigation  and  commerce,  the  waters  of  the  United 
States  " ;  therefore  no  State  can  grant  exclusive  privileges.  The 
Supreme  Court  affirmed  this  to  be  the  true  doctrine,  and  thence- 
forth Captain  Cornelius  Vanderbilt  ran  his  steamboat  without 
feeling  it  necessary,  on  approaching  New  York,  to  station  a  lady 
at  the  helm  and  to  hide  himself  in  the  hold.  Along  with  this 
concentrating  power,  Mr.  Webster  possessed,  as  every  school-boy 
knows,  a  fine  talent  for  amplification  and  narrative.  His  narra- 
tion of  the  murder  of  Captain  White  was  almost  enough  of  itself 
to  hang  a  man. 

But  it  was  not  his  substantial  services  to  his  country  which 
drew  upon  him  the  eyes  of  all  New  England,  and  made  him  dear 
to  every  son  of  the  Pilgrims.  In  1820,  the  Pilgrim  Society  of 
Plymouth  celebrated  the  anniversary  of  the  landing  of  their  fore- 
fathers in  America.  At  the  dinner  of  the  Society,  that  day, 
every  man  found  beside  his  plate  five  kernels  of  corn,  to  remind 
him  of  the  time  when  that  was  the  daily  allowance  of  the  set- 
tlers, and  it  devolved  upon  Daniel  Webster  to  show  how  worthy 
they  were  of  better  fare.  His  address  on  this  anniversary  is  but 
an  amplification  of  his  Junior  Fourth-of-July  oration  of  1800 ; 
but  what  an  amplification !  It  differed  from  that  youthful  essay 
as  the  first  flights  of  a  young  eagle,  from  branch  to  branch  up- 
on its  native  tree,  differ  from  the  sweep  of  his  wings  when  he 
takes  a  continent  in  his  flight,  and  'swings  from  mountain  range 
to  mountain  range.  We  are  aware  that  eulogy  is,  of  all  the 
kinds  of  composition,  the  easiest  to  execute  in  a  tolerable 
manner.  What  Mr.  Everett  calls  "  patriotic  eloquence  "  should 


92  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

usually  be  left  to  persons  who  are  in  the  gushing  time  of  life ; 
for  when  men  address  men,  they  should  say  something,  clear  up 
something,  help  forward  something,  accomplish  something.  It 
is  not  becoming  in  a  full-grown  man  to  utter  melodious  wind. 
Nevertheless,  it  can  be  truly  said  of  this  splendid  and  irresistible 
oration,  that  it  carries  that  kind  of  composition  as  far  as  we  can 
ever  expect  to  see  it  carried,  even  in  this  its  native  land.  What 
a  triumphant  joy  it  must  have  been  to  an  audience,  accustomed 
for  three  or  four  generations  to  regard  preaching  as  the  noblest 
work  of  man,  keenly  susceptible  to  all  the  excellences  of  uttered 
speech,  and  who  now  heard  their  plain  old  fathers  and  grand- 
fathers praised  in  such  massive  and  magnificent  English !  Nor 
can  it  be  said  that  this  speech  says  nothing.  In  1820  it  was  still 
part  of  the  industry  of  New  England  to  fabricate  certain  articles 
required  by  slave-traders  in  their  hellish  business ;  and  there 
were  still  descendants  of  the  Pilgrims  who  were  actually  en- 
gaged in  the  traffic. 

"  If  there  be,"  exclaimed  the  orator, "  within  the  extent  of  our  knowl- 
edge or  influence  any  participation,  in  this  traffic,  let  us  pledge  our- 
selves here,  upon  the  rock  of  Plymouth,  to  extirpate  and  destroy  it. 
It  is  not  fit  that  the  land  of  the  Pilgrims  should  bear  the  shame  longer. 
I  hear  the  sound  of  the  hammer,  I  see  the  smoke  of  the  furnaces  where 
manacles  and  fetters  are  still  forged  for  human  limbs.  I  see  the  visa- 
ges of  those  who  by  stealth  and  at  midnight  labor  in  this  work  of  hell, 
foul  and  dark,  as  may  become  the  artificers  of  such  instruments  of 
misery  and  torture.  Let  that  spot  be  purified,  or  let  it  cease  to  be  of 
New  England."—  Works,  Vol.  I.  pp.  45,  46. 

And  he, proceeds,  in  language  still  more  energetic,  to  call  upon 
his  countrymen  to  purge  their  land  of  this  iniquity.  This  ora- 
tion, widely  circulated  through  the  press,  gave  the  orator  uni- 
versal celebrity  in  the  Northern  States,  and  was  one  of  the  many 
causes  which  secured  his  continuance  in  the  national  councils. 

Such  was  his  popularity  in  Boston,  that,  in  1824,  he  was  re- 
elected  to  Congress  by  4,990  votes  out  of  5,000 ;  and  such  was 
his  celebrity  in  his  profession,  that  his  annual  retainers  from 
banks,  insurance  companies,  and  mercantile  firms  yielded  an  in- 
come that  would  have  satisfied  most  lawyers  even  of  great  emi 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  93 

nence.  Those  were  not  the  times  of  five-thousand-dollar  fees. 
As  late  as  1819,  as  we  see  in  Mr.  Webster's  books,  he  gave  "ad- 
vice "  in  important  cases  for  twenty  dollars ;  his  regular  retaining 
fee  was  fifty  dollars  ;  his  "  annual  retainer,"  one  hundred  dollars , 
his  whole  charge  for  conducting  a  cause  rarely  exceeded  five  hun- 
dred dollars;  and  the  income  of  a  whole  year  averaged  about 
twenty  thousand  dollars.  Twenty  years  later,  he  has  gained  a 
larger  sum  than  that  by  the  trial  of  a  single  cause ;  but  in  1820 
such  an  income  was  immense,  and  probably  not  exceeded  by  that 
of  any  other  American  lawyer.  Most  lawyers  in  the  United 
State?,  he  once  said,  "  live  well,  work  hard,  and  die  poor " ;  and 
this  is  particularly  likely  to  be  the  case  with  lawyers  who  spend 
six  months  of  the  year  in  Congress. 

Northern  members  of  Congress,  from  the  foundation  of  the 
government,  have  usually  gratified  their  ambition  only  by  the 
sacrifice  of  their  interests.  The  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
modelled  upon  the  Parliament  of  Great  Britain,  finds  in  the 
North  no  suitable  class  of  men  who  can  afford  to  be  absent  from 
their  affairs  half  the  year.  We  should  naturally  choose  to  be 
represented  in  Washington  by  men  distinguished  in  their  several 
spheres ;  but  in  the  North,  almost  all  such  persons  are  so  involved 
in  business  that  they  cannot  accept  a  seat  in  Congress,  except  at 
the  peril  of  their  fortune ;  and  this  inconvenience  is  aggravated 
oy  the  habits  that  prevail  at  the  seat  of  government.  In  the  case 
of  a  lawyer  like  Daniel  Webster,  who  has  a  large  practice  in  the 
Supreme  Court,  the  difficulty  is  diminished,  because  he  can  usu- 
ally attend  the  court  without  seriously  neglecting  his  duties  in 
Congress,  —  usually,  but  not  always.  There  was  one  year  in  the 
Congressional  life  of  Mr.  Webster  when  he  was  kept  out  of  the 
Supreme  Court  for  four  months  by  the  high  duty  that  devolved 
upon  him  of  refuting  Calhoun's  nullification  subtilties  ;  but  even 
in  that  year,  his  professional  income  was  more  than  seven  thou- 
sand dollars;  and  he  ought  by  that  time,  after  thirty  years  of 
most  successful  practice,  to  have  been  independent  of  his  profes- 
sion. He  was  not,  however ;  and  never  would  have  been,  if  he 
had  practised  a  century.  Those  habits  of  profusion,  that  reck- 
less disregard  of  pecuniary  considerations,  of  which  we  noticed 


94  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

indications  in  his  early  days,  seemed  to  be  part  of  his  moral  con- 
stitution. He  never  appeared  to  know  how  much  money  he  had, 
nor  how  much  he  owed ;  and,  what  was  worse,  he  never  appeared 
to  care.  He  was  a  profuse  giver  and  a  careless  payer.  It  was 
far  easier  for  him  to  send  a  hundred-dollar  note  in  reply  to  a  beg- 
ging letter,  than  it  was  to  discharge  a  long-standing  account ;  and 
when  he  had  wasted  his  resources  in  extravagant  and  demoraliz- 
ing gifts,  he  deemed  it  a  sufficient  answer  to  a  presented  bill  to  ask 
his  creditor  how  a  man  could  pay  money  who  had  none. 

It  is  not  true,  therefore,  that  the  frequent  embarrassments  of 
his  later  years  were  due  to  the  loss  of  practice  by  his  attendance 
in  Congress ;  because,  in  the  years  when  his  professional  gains 
were  smallest,  his  income  was  large  enough  for  the  wants  of  any 
reasonable  man.  Nevertheless,  we  cannot  deny  that  when,  in 

1827,  by  his  acceptance  of  a  seat  in  the  Senate,  he  gave  himself 
permanently  to  public  life,  he  made  a  sacrifice  of  his  pecuniary 
interests  which,  for  a  man  of  such  vast  requirements  and  uncalcu- 
lating  habits,  was  very  great. 

But  his  reward  was  also  very  great.  On  that  elevated  the- 
atre he  soon  found  an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  his  talents, 
which,  while  it  honored  and  served  his  country,  rendered  him  the 
foremost  man  in  that  part  of  it  where  such  talents  as  his  could 
be  appreciated. 

All  wars  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge  have  consisted  of 
two  parts :  first,  a  war  of  words ;  secondly,  the  conflict  of  arms. 
The  war  of  words  which  issued  in  the  late  Rebellion  beiran,  in 

1828.  by  the  publication  of  Mr.  Calhoun's  first  paper  upon  Nullifi- 
cation, called  the  South  Carolina  Exposition  ;    and  it  ended  m 
April,  1861,  when  President  Lincoln  issued  his  call  for  seventy- 
five  thousand  troops,  which  excited  so  much  merriment  at  Mont- 
gomery.    This  was  a  period  of  thirty-three  years,  during  which 
every  person  in  the  United  States  who  could  use  either  tongue 
or  pen  joined  in  the  strife  of  words,  and  contributed  his  share 
either  toward  hastening  or  postponing  the  final  appeal  to  the 
sword.     Men  fight  with  one  another,  says  Dr.  Franklin,  because 
they  have  not  sense  enough  to  settle  their  disputes  in  any  other 
way;  and  when  once  they  have  begun,  never  stop  killing  one 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  95 

another  as  long  as  they  have  money  enough  "  to  pay  the  butch- 
ers." So  it  appeared  in  our  ca«e.  Of  all  the  men  who  took 
part  in  this  preliminary  war  of  words,  Daniel  Webster  was 
incomparably  the  ablest.  He  seemed  charged  with  a  message 
and  a  mission  to  the  people  of  the  United  States ;  and  almost 
everything  that  he  said  in  his  whole  life  of  real  value  has  refer- 
ence to  that  message  and  that  mission.  The  necessity  of  the 
Union  of  these  States,  the  nature  of  the  tie  that  binds  them 
together,  the  means  by  which  alone  that  tie  can  be  kept  strong, 
—  this  was  what  he  came  charged  to  impart  to  us ;  and  when  he 
had  fully  delivered  this  message,  he  had  done  his  work.  His 
numberless  speeches  upon  the  passing  questions  of  the  day,  — 
tariff,  Bank,  currency,  Sub-treasury,  and  the  rest,  —  in  which 
the  partisan  spoke  rather  than  the  man,  may  have  had  their 
value  at  the  time,  but  there  is  little  in  them  of  durable  worth. 
Those  of  them  which  events  have  not  refuted,  time  has  rendered 
obsolete.  No  general  principles  are  established  in  them  which 
can  be  applied  to  new  cases.  Indeed,  he  used  often  to  assert 
that  there  were  no  general  principles  in  practical  statesmanship, 
but  that  the  government  of  nations  is,  and  must  be,  a  series  of 
expedients.  Several  times,  in  his  published  works,  can  be  found 
the  assertion,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  science  of  political 
economy,  though  he  says  he  had  "  turned  over  "  all  the  authors 
on  that  subject  from  Adam  Smith  to  his  own  time.  It  is  when 
he  speaks  of  the  Union  and  the  Constitution,  and  when  he  is 
rousing  the  sentiment  of  nationality,  that  he  utters,  not,  indeed, 
eternal  truths,  but  truths  necessary  to  the  existence  of  the  United 
States,  and  which  can  only  become  obsolete  when  the  nation  ia 
iiO  more. 

The  whole  of  his  previous  life  had  been  an  unconscious  prep 
aration  for  these  great  debates.  It  was  one  of  the  recollections 
of  his  childhood,  that,  in  his  eighch  year,  he  had  bought  a  hand- 
kerchief  upon  which  was  printed  the  Constitution  of  1787,  which 
he  then  read  through ;  and  while  he  was  a  farmer's  boy  at  home, 
the  great  question  of  its  acceptance  or  rejection  had  been  decided. 
His  father's  party  was  the  party  for  the  Constitution,  whose  only 
regret  concerning  it  was,  that  it  was  not  so  much  of  a  constitution 


96  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

as  they  wished  it  to  b&  The  Republicans  dwelt  upon  its  defects 
and  dangers ;  the  Federalists,  upon  its  advantages  and  beauties : 
so  that  all  that  this  receptive  lad  heard  of  it  at  his  father's  fire- 
side was  of  its  value  and  necessity.  We  see  in  his  youthful 
orations  that  nothing  in  the  history  of  the  continent  struck  his 
imagination  so  powerfully  as  the  spectacle  of  thirty-eight  gentle- 
men meeting  in  a  quiet  city,  and  peacefully  settling  the  terms  of 
a  national  union  between  thirteen  sovereign  States,  most  of  which 
gave  up,  voluntarily,  what  the  sword  alone  was  once  supposed 
capable  of  extorting.  In  all  his  orations  on  days  of  national 
festivity  or  mourning,  we  observe  that  his  weightiest  eulogy  falls 
upon  those  who  were  conspicuous  in  this  great  business.  Because 
Hamilton  aided  in  it,  he  revered  his  memory ;  because  Madison 
was  its  best  interpreter,  he  venerated  his  name  and  deferred 
absolutely  to  his  judgment.  It  was  clear  to  his  mind  that  the 
President  can  only  dismiss  an  officer  of  the  government  as  he 
appoints  him,  by  and  with  the  advice  and  consent  of  the  Senate ; 
but  he  would  not  permit  himself  to  think  so  against  Mr.  Madi- 
son's decision.  His  own  triumphs  at  the  bar  —  those  upon  which 
he  plumed  himself —  were  all  such  as  resulted  from  his  lonely 
broodings  over,  and  patient  study  of,  the  Constitution  of  his 
country.  A  native  of  one  of  the  smallest  of  the  States,  to  which 
the  Union  was  an  unmixed  benefit  and  called  for  no  sacrifice  of 
pride,  he  grew  up  into  nationality  without  having  to  pass  through 
any  probation  of  States'  rights  scruples.  Indeed,  it  was  as  natu- 
ral for  a  man  of  his  calibre  to  be  a  national  man  as  it  is  for  his 
own  Monadnock  to  be  three  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea. 

The  South  Carolina  Exposition  of  1828  appeared  to  fall  still- 
born from  the  press.  Neither  General  Jackson  nor  any  of  his 
nearest  friends  seem  to  have  been  so  much  as  aware  of  its  ex- 
istence ;  certainly  they  attached  no  importance  to  it.  Colonel 
Benton  assures  us,  that  to  him  the  Hayne  debate,  so  far  as  it  re- 
lated to  constitutional  questions,  seemed  a  mere  oratorical  display, 
without  adequate  cause  or  object ;  and  we  know  that  General 
Jackson,  intimately  allied  with  the  Hayne  family  and  strongly 
attached  to  Colonel  Hayne  himself,  wished  him  success  in  the  de- 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  97 

bate,  and  heard  with  regret  that  Mr.  Webster  was  "  demolishing  " 
him.  Far,  indeed,  was  any  one  from  supposing  that  a  movement 
had  been  set  on  foot  which  was  to  end  only  with  the  total  destruc- 
tion of  the  "  interest  "  sought  to  be  protected  by  it.  Far  was  any 
one  from  foreseeing  that  so  poor  and  slight  a  thing  as  the  Expo- 
sition was  the  beginning  of  forty  years  of  strife.  It  is  evident 
from  the  Banquo  passage  of  Mr.  Webster's  principal  speech, 
when,  looking  at  Vice-President  Calhoun,  he  reminded  that  am- 
bitious man  that,  in  joining  the  coalition  which  made  Jackson 
President,  he  had  only  given  Van  Buren  a  push  toward  the 
Presidency,  —  "  No  son  of  theirs  succeeding,"  —  it  is  evident,  we 
say,  from  this  passage,  and  from  other  covert  allusions,  that  he 
understood  the  game  of  Nullification  from  the  beginning,  so  far  as 
its  objects  were  personal.  But  there  is  no  reason  for  supposing 
that  he  attached  importance  to  it  before  that  memorable  afternoon 
in  December,  1830,  when  he  strolled  from  the  Supreme  Court  in- 
to the  Senate-chamber,  and  chanced  to  hear  Colonel  Hayne  re- 
viling New  England,  and  repeating  the  doctrines  of  the  South 
Carolina  Exposition. 

Every  one  knows  the  story  of  this  first  triumph  of  the  United 
States  over  its  enemies.  Daniel  Webster,  as  Mr.  Everett  re- 
cords, appeared  to  be  the  only  person  in  Washington  who  was 
entirely  at  his  ease  ;  and  he  was  so  remarkably  unconcerned,  that 
Mr.  Everett  feared  he  was  not  aware  of  the  expectations  of  the 
public,  and  the  urgent  necessity  of  his  exerting  all  his  powers. 
Another  friend  mentions,  that  on  the  day  before  the  delivery  of 
the  principal  speech  the  orator  lay  down  as  usual,  after  dinner, 
upon  a  sofa,  and  soon  was  heard  laughing  to  himself.  Being 
asked  what  he  was  laughing  at,  he  said  he  had  just  thought  of  a 
way  to  turn  Colonel  Hayne's  quotation  about  Banquo's  ghost 
against  himself,  and  he  was  going  to  get  up  and  make  a  note  of 
it.  This  he  did,  and  then  resumed  his  nap. 

Notwithstanding  these  appearances  of  indifference,  he  was  fully 
roused  to  the  importance  of  the  occasion  ;  and,  indeed,  we  have 
the  impression  that  only  on  this  occasion,  in  his  whole  life,  were 
all  his  powers  in  full  activity  and  his  entire  mass  of  being  in  full 
glow.  But  even  then  the  artist  was  apparent  in  all  that  he  did. 
6  o 


98  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

and  particularly  in  the  dress  which  he  wore.  At  that  time,  in 
his  forty-eighth  year,  his  hair  was  still  as  black  as  an  Indian's,  and 
it  lay  in  considerable  masses  about  the  spacious  dome  of  his  fore 
head.  His  form  had  neither  the  slenderness  of  his  youth  nor  the 
elephantine  magnitude  of  his  later  years  ;  it  was  fully,  but  finely 
developed,  imposing  and  stately,  yet  not  wanting  in  alertness  and 
grace.  No  costume  could  have  been  better  suited  to  it  than  his 
blue  coat  and  glittering  gilt  buttons,  his  ample  yellow  waistcoat, 
his  black  trousers,  and  snowy  cravat.  It  was  in  some  degree,  per- 
haps, owing  to  the  elegance  and  daintiness  of  his  dress  that,  while 
the  New  England  men  among  his  hearers  were  moved  to  tears, 
many  Southern  members,  like  Colonel  Benton,  regarded  the 
speech  merely  as  a  Four th-of- July  oration  delivered  on  the  6th 
of  January.  Benton  assures  us,  however,  that  he  soon  discov- 
ered his  error,  for  the  Nullifiers  were  not  to  be  put  down  by  a 
speech,  and  soon  revealed  themselves  in  their  true  character,  as 
"  irreconcilable  "  foes  of  the  Union.  This  was  Daniel  Web- 
ster's own  word  in  speaking  of  that  faction  in  1830,  —  "  irrecon- 
cilable." 

After  this  transcendent  effort,  —  perhaps  the  greatest  of  its 
kind  ever  made  by  man,  —  Daniel  Webster  had  nothing  to  gain 
in  the  esteem  of  the  Northern  States.  He  was  indisputably  our 
foremost  man,  and  in  Massachusetts  there  was  no  one  who  could 
be  said  to  be  second  to  him  in  the  regard  of  the  people :  he  was 
a  whole  species  in  himself.  In  the  subsequent  winter  of  debate 
with  Calhoun  upon  the  same  subject,  he  added  many  details  to 
his  argument,  developed  it  in  many  directions,  and  accumulated  a 
great  body  of  constitutional  reasoning ;  but  so  far  as  the  people 
were  concerned,  the  reply  to  Hayne  sufficed.  In  all  those 
debates  we  are  struck  with  his  colossal,  his  superfluous  superiority 
to  his  opponents  ;  and  we  wonder  how  it  could  have  been  that 
such  a  man  should  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  refute  such 
puerilities.  It  was,  however,  abundantly  worth  while.  The 
assailed  Constitution  needed  such  a  defender.  It  was  necessary 
that  the  patriotic  feeling  of  the  American  people,  which  was 
destined  to  a  trial  so  severe,  should  have  an  unshakable  basis  of 
intelligent  conviction.  It  was  necessary  that  all  men  should  be 


DANIEL   WEBSTER.  99 

made  distinctly  to  see  that  the  Constitution  was  not  a  "  compact " 
to  which  the  States  "acceded,''  and  from  which  they  could 
secede,  but  the  fundamental  law,  which  the  people  had  established 
and  ordained,  from  which  there  could  be  no  secession  but  by 
revolution.  It  was  necessary  that  the  country  should  be  made  to 
understand  that  Nullification  and  Secession  were  one  and  the 
same  ;  and  that  to  admit  the  first,  promising  to  stop  short  at  the 
second,  was  as  though  a  man  "  should  take  the  plunge  of  Niag- 
ara and  cry  out  that  he  would  stop  half-way  down."  Mr.  Web- 
ster's principal  speech  on  this  subject,  delivered  in  1832,  has,  and 
will  ever  have,  with  the  people  and  the  Courts  of  the  United 
States,  the  authority  of  a  judicial  decision  ;  and  it  might  very 
properly  be  added  to  popular  editions  of  the  Constitution  as  an 
appendix.  Into  the  creation  of  the  feeling  and  opinion  which 
fought  out  the  late  war  for  the  Union  a  thousand  and  ten  thou- 
sand causes  entered  ;  every  man  who  had  ever  performed  a 
patriotic  action,  and  every  man  who  ever  from  his  heart  had 
spoken  a  patriotic  word,  contributed  to  its  production  ;  but  to  no 
man,  perhaps,  were  we  more  indebted  for  it  than  to  the  Daniel 
Webster  of  1830  and  1832. 

We  cannot  so  highly  commend  his  votes  in  1832  as  his 
speeches.  General  Jackson's  mode  of  dealing  with  nullification 
seems  to  us  the  model  for  every  government  to  follow  which  has 
to  deal  with  discontented  subjects: — 1.  To  take  care  that  the 
laws  are  obeyed  ;  2.  To  remove  the  real  grounds  of  discontent. 
This  was  General  Jackson's  plan.  This,  also,  was  the  aim  of 
Mr.  Clay's  compromise.  Mr.  Webster  objected  to  both,  on  the 
ground  that  nullification  was  rebellion,  and  that  no  legislation 
respecting  the  pretext  for  rebellion  should  be  entertained  until 
the  rebellion  was  quelled.  Thus  he  came  out  of  the  battle,  dear 
to  the  thinking  people  of  the  country,  but  estranged  from  the 
three  political  powers,  —  Henry  Clay  and  his  friends,  General 
Jackson  and  his  friends,  Calhoun  and  his  friends  ;  and  though  be 
soon  lapsed  again  under  the  leadership  of  Mr.  Clay,  there  was 
never  again  a  cordial  union  between  him  and  any  interior  circle 
of  politicians  who  could  have  gratified  his  ambition.  Deceived 
by  the  thunders  of  applause  which  greeted  him  wherever  h« 


100  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

went,  and  the  intense  adulation  of  his  own  immediate  circle,  he 
thought  that  he  too  could  be  an  independent  power  in  politics. 
Two  wild  vagaries  seemed  to  have  haunted  him  ever  after :  first, 
that  a  man  could  merit  the  Presidency ;  secondly,  that  a  man 
could  get  the  Presidency  by  meriting  it. 

From  1832  to  the  end  of  his  life  it  appears  to  us  that  Daniel 
Webster  was  undergoing  a  process  of  deterioration,  moral  and 
mental.  His  material  part  gained  upon  his  spiritual.  Naturally 
inclined  to  indolence,  and  having  an  enormous  capacity  for  phys- 
ical enjoyment,  a  great  hunter,  fisherman,  and  farmer,  a  lover  of 
good  wine  and  good  dinners,  a  most  jovial  companion,  his  phys- 
ical desires  and  tastes  were  constantly  strengthened  by  being 
keenly  gratified,  while  his  mind  was  fed  chiefly  upon  past  ac- 
quisitions. There  is  nothing  in  his  later  efforts  which  shows  any 
intellectual  advance,  nothing  from  which  we  can  infer  that  he 
had  been  browsing  in  forests  before  untrodden,  or  feeding  in  pas- 
tures new.  He  once  said,  at  Marshfield,  that,  if  he  could  live 
three  lives  in  one,  he  would  like  to  devote  them  all  to  study,  — -X 
one  to  geology,  one  to  astronomy,  and  one  to  classical  literature,  j 
But  it  does  not  appear  that  he  invigorated  and  refreshed  the  old 
age  of  his  mind,  by  doing  more  than  glance  over  the  great  works 
which  treat  of  these  subjects.  A  new  language  every  ten  years, 
or  a  new  science  vigorously  pursued,  seems  necessary  to  preserve 
the  freshness  of  the  understanding,  especially  when  the  physical 
tastes  are  superabundantly  nourished.  He  could  praise  Rufus 
Choate  for  reading  a  little  Latin  and  Greek  every  day,  —  and 
this  was  better  than  nothing,  —  but  he  did  not  follow  his  exam- 
ple. There  is  an  aged  merchant  in  New  York,  who  has  kept  his 
mind  from  growing  old  by  devoting  exactly  twenty  minutes  every 
day  to  the  reading  of  some  abstruse  book,  as  far  removed  from 
his  necessary  routine  of  thought  as  he  could  find.  Goethe's  ad- 
vice to  every  one  to  read  every  day  a  short  poem,  recognizes  the 
danger  we  all  incur  in  taking  systematic  care  of  the  body  and 
letting  the  soul  take  care  of  itself.  During  the  last  ten  years  of 
Daniel  Webster's  life,  he  spent  many  a  thousand  dollars  upon  his 
library,  and  almost  ceased  to  be  an  intellectual  being. 

His  pecuniary  habits  demoralized  him.      It  was  wrong  and 


DANIEL  WEBSTEB.  101 

mean  in  him  to  accept  gifts  of  money  from  the  people  of  Boston 
it  was  wrong  in  them  to  submit  to  his  merciless  exactions.  What 
need  was  there  that  their  Senator  should  sometimes  be  a  mendi- 
cant and  sometimes  a  pauper?  If  he  chose  to  maintain  baronial 
state  without  a  baron's  income ;  if  he  chose  to  have  two  fancy 
farms  of  more  than  a  thousand  acres  each ;  if  he  chose  to  keep 
two  hundred  prize  cattle  and  seven  hundred  choice  sheep  for  his 
pleasure ;  if  he  must  have  about  his  house  lamas,  deer,  and  all 
rare  fowls ;  if  his  flower-garden  must  be  one  acre  in  extent,  and 
his  books  worth  thirty  thousand  dollars ;  if  he  found  it  pleasant 
to  keep  two  or  three  yachts  and  a  little  fleet  of  smaller  craft ;  if 
he  could  not  refrain  from  sending  money  in  answer  to  begging 
letters,  and  pleased  himself  by  giving  away  to  his  black  man 
money  enough  to  buy  a  very  good  house ;  and  if  he  could  not 
avoid  adding  wings  and  rooms  to  his  spacious  mansion  at  Marsh- 
field,  and  must  needs  keep  open  house  there  and  have  a  dozen 
guests  at  a  time,  —  why  should  the  solvent  and  careful  business 
men  of  Boston  have  been  taxed,  or  have  taxed  themselves,  to 
pay  any  part  of  the  expense? 

Mr.  Lanman,  his  secretary,  gives  us  this  curious  and  contra- 
dictory account  of  his  pecuniary  habits :  — 

"  He  made  money  with  ease,  and  spent  it  without  reflection.  He 
had  accounts  with  various  banks,  and  men  of  all  parties  were  always 
glad  to  accommodate  him  with  loans,  if  he  wanted  them.  He  kept  no 
record  of  his  deposits,  unless  it  were  on  slips  of  paper  hidden  in  his 
pockets ;  these  matters  were  generally  left  with  his  secretary.  His 
notes  were  seldom  or  never  regularly  protested,  and  when  they  were, 
they  caused  him  an  immense  deal  of  mental  anxiety.  When  the 
writer  has  sometimes  drawn  a  check  for  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars, 
he  has  not  even  looked  at  it,  but  packed  it  away  in  his  pockets,  like  so 
much  waste  paper.  During  his  long  professional  career,  he  earned 
money  enough  to  make  a  dozen  fortunes,  but  he  spent  it  liberally,  and 
gave  it  away  to  the  poor  by  hundreds  and  thousands.  Begging  letters 
from  women  and  unfortunate  men  were  received  by  him  almost  daily, 
at  certain  periods ;  and  one  instance  is  remembered  where,  on  six  suc- 
cessive days,  he  sent  remittances  of  fifty  and  one  hundred  dollars  to 
people  with  whom  he  was  entirely  unacquainted.  He  was  indeed  care- 
less, but  strictly  and  religiously  honest,  in  all  his  money  matters.  He 


102  DANIEL   WEBSTER. 

knew  not  how  to  be  otherwise.     The  last  fee  which  he  ever  received 

for  a  single  legal  argument  was  $11,000 

"  A  sanctimonious  lady  once  called  upon  Mr.  Webster,  in  Washing- 
ton, with  a  long  and  pitiful  story  about  her  misfortunes  and  poverty, 
and  asked  him  for  a  donation  of  money  to  defray  her  expenses  to  her 
home  in  a  Western  city.  He  listened  with  all  the  patience  he  could 
manage,  expressed  his  surprise  that  she  should  have  called  upon  him 
for  money,  simply  because  he  was  an  officer  of  the  government,  and 
that,  too,  when  she  was  a  total  stranger  to  him,  reprimanded  her  in 
very  plain  language  for  her  improper  conduct,  and  handed  her  a  note 
of  fifty  dollars. 

"  He  had  called  upon  the  cashier  of  the  bank  where  he  kept  an  ac- 
count, for  the  purpose  of  getting  a  draft  discounted,  when  that  gentle- 
man expressed  some  surprise,  and  casually  inquired  why  he  wanted  so 
much  money  ?  '  To  spend ;  to  buy  bread  and  meat,'  replied  Mr.  Web- 
ster, a  little  annoyed  at  this  speech. 

" '  But,'  returned  the  cashier, '  you  already  have  upon  deposit  in  the 
bank  no  less  than  three  thousand  dollars,  and  I  was  only  wondering 
why  you  wanted  so  much  money.' 

"  This  was  indeed  the  truth,  but  Mr.  Webster  had  forgotten  it." 

Mr.  Lanman's  assertion  that  Mr.  Webster,  with  all  this  reck- 
lessness, was  religiously  honest,  must  have  excited  a  grim  smile 
upon  the  countenances  of  such  of  his  Boston  readers  as  had  had 
his  name  upon  their  books.  No  man  can  be  honest  long  who  is 
careless  in  his  expenditures. 

It  is  evident  from  his  letters,  if  we  did  not  know  it  from  other 
sources  of  information,  that  his  carelessness  with  regard  to  the 
balancing  of  his  books  grew  upon  him  as  he  advanced  in  life, 
and  kept  pace  with  the  general  deterioration  of  his  character.  In 
1824,  before  he  had  been  degraded  by  the  acceptance  of  pecuni- 
ary aid,  and  when  he  was  still  a  solvent  person,  one  of  his  nephews 
asked  him  for  a  loan.  He  replied :  "  If  you  think  you  can  do 
anything  useful  with  a  thousand  dollars,  you  may  have  that  sum 
in  the  spring,  or  sooner,  if  need  be,  on  the  following  conditions :  — • 
1.  You  must  give  a  note  for  it  with  reasonable  security.  2.  The 
interest  must  be  payable  annually,  and  must  be  paid  at  the  day 
without  fail.  And  so  long  as  this  continues  to  be  done,  the  money 
not  to  be  called  for  —  the  principal  —  under  six  months'  notice. 


tW  Angeles,  v-ai 
DANIEL   WEBSTER.  103 

f  am  thus  explicit  with  you,  because  you  wish  me  to  trc  so;  and 
because  also,  having  a  little  money,  and  but  a  little,  I  am  resolved 
on  keeping  it."  This  is  sufficiently  business-like.  He  had  a  lit- 
tle money  then,  —  enough,  as  he  intimates,  for  the  economical 
maintenance  of  his  family.  During  the  land  fever  of  1835  and 
1836,  he  lost  so  seriously  by  speculations  in  Western  land,  that 
he  was  saved  from  bankruptcy  only  by  the  aid  of  that  mystical 
but  efficient  body  whom  he  styled  his  "  friends  "  ;  and  from  that 
time  to  the  end  of  his  life  he  was  seldom  at  his  ease.  He  earned 
immense  occasional  fees,  —  two  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
each  ;  he  received  frequent  gifts  of  money,  as  well  as  a  regular 
stipend  from  an  invested  capital ;  but  he  expended  so  profusely, 
that  he  was  sometimes  at  a  loss  for  a  hundred  dollars  to  pay  his 
hay-makers ;  and  he  died  forty  thousand  dollars  in  debt. 

The  adulation  of  which  he  was  the  victim  at  almost  every  hour 
of  his  existence  injured  and  deceived  him.  He  was  continually 
informed  that  he  was  the  greatest  of  living  men,  —  the  "  godlike 
Daniel " ;  and  when  he  escaped  even  into  the  interior  of  his 
home,  he  found  there  persons  who  sincerely  believed  that  making 
such  speeches  as  his  was  the  greatest  of  all  possible  human 
achievements.  All  men  whose  talents  are  of  the  kind  which 
enable  their  possessor  to  give  intense  pleasure  to  great  multitudes 
are  liable  to  this  misfortune ;  and  especially  in  a  new  and  busy 
country,  little  removed  from  the  colonial  state,  where  intellectual 
eminence  is  rare,  and  the  number  of  persons  who  can  enjoy  it  is 
exceedingly  great.  We  are  growing  out  of  this  provincial  pro- 
pensity to  abandon  ourselves  to  admiration  of  the  pleasure-giving 
talents.  The  time  is  at  hand,  we  trust,  when  we  shall  not  be 
struck  with  wonder  because  a  man  can  make  a  vigorous  speech, 
or  write  a  good  novel,  or  play  Hamlet  decently,  and  when  we 
shall  be  able  to  enjoy  the  talent  without  adoring  the  man.  The 
talent  is  one  thing,  and  the  man  another ;  the  talent  may  be 
immense,  and  the  man  little ;  the  speech  powerful  and  wise,  the 
speaker  weak  and  foolish.  Daniel  Webster  came  at  last  to  loathe 
this  ceaseless  incense,  but  it  was  when  his  heart  was  set  upon  ho- 
mage of  another  kind,  which  he  was  destined  never  to  enjoy. 

Another  powerful  cause  of  his  deterioration  was  the  strange, 


104  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

strong,  always  increasing  desire  he  had  to  be  President.  Any 
intelligent  politician,  outside  of  the  circle  of  his  own  "  friends," 
could  have  told  him,  and  proved  to  him,  that  he  had  little  more 
chance  of  being  elected  President  than  the  most  insignificant 
man  in  the  Whig  party.  And  the  marvel  is,  that  he  himself 
should  not  have  known  it,  —  he  who  knew  why,  precisely  why, 
every  candidate  had  been  nominated,  from  Madison  to  General 
Taylor.  In  the  teeth  of  all  the  facts,  he  still  cherished  the  amaz- 
ing delusion  that  the  Presidency  of  the  United  States,  like  the 
Premiership  of  England,  is  the  natural  and  just  reward  of  long 
and  able  public  service.  The  Presidency,  on  the  contrary,  is  not 
merely  an  accident,  but  it  is  an  accident  of  the  last  moment.  It 
is  a  game  too  difficult  for  mortal  faculties  to  play,  because  some 
of  the  conditions  of  success  are  as  uncertain  as  t'Le  winds,  and  as 
ungovernable.  If  dexterous  playing  could  have  availed,  Douglas 
would  have  carried  off  the  stakes,  for  he  had  an  audacious  and  a 
mathematical  mind ;  while  the  winning  man  in  1856  was  a  heavy 
player,  devoid  of  skill,  whose  decisive  advantage  was  that  he  had 
been  out  of  the  game  for  four  years.  Mr.  Seward,  too,  was  within 
an  ace  of  winning,  when  an  old  quarrel  between  two  New  York 
editors  swept  his  cards  from  the  table. 

No :  the  President  of  the  United  States  is  not  prime  minister, 
but  chief  magistrate,  and  he  is  subject  to  that  law  of  nature  which 
places  at  the  head  of  regular  governments  more  or  less  respecta- 
ble Nobodies.  In  Europe  this  law  of  nature  works  through  the 
hereditary  principle,  and  in  America  through  universal  suffrage. 
In  all  probability,  we  shall  usually  elect  a  person  of  the  non-com- 
mittal species,  —  one  who  will  have  lived  fifty  or  sixty  years  in 
the  world  without  having  formed  an  offensive  conviction  or  uttered 
a  striking  word,  —  one  who  will  have  conducted  his  life  as  those 
popular  periodicals  are  conducted,  in  which  there  are  "  no  allusions 
to  politics  or  religion."  And  may  not  this  be  part  of  the  exquis- 
ite economy  of  nature,  which  ever  strives  to  get  into  each  place 
the  smallest  man  that  can  fill  it?  How  miserably  out  of  place 
would  be  a  man  of  active,  originating,  disinterested  spirit,  at  the 
head  of  a  strictly  limited,  constitutional  government,  such  as  ours 
is  in  time  of  peace,  in  which  the  best  President  is  he  who  doea 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  105 

the  least  ?  Imagine  a  live  man  thrust  out  over  the  bows  of  a 
ship,  and  compelled  to  stand  as  figure-head,  lashed  by  the  waves 
and  winds  during  a  four  years'  voyage,  and  expected  to  be  pleased 
with  his  situation  because  he  is  gilt ! 

Daniel  Webster  so  passionately  desired  the  place,  that  he  could 
never  see  how  far  he  was  from  the  possibility  of  getting  it.  He 
was  not  such  timber  as  either  Southern  fire-eaters  or  Northern 
wire-pullers  had  any  use  for ;  and  a  melancholy  sight  it  was,  this 
man,  once  so  stately,  paying  court  to  every  passing  Southerner, 
and  personally  begging  delegates  to  vote  for  him.  He  was  not 
made  for  that.  An  elephant  does  sometimes  stand  upon  his  head 
and  play  a  barrel-organ,  but  every  one  who  sees  the  sorry  sight 
sees  also  that  it  was  not  the  design  of  Nature  that  elephants 
should  do  such  things. 

A  Marshfield  elm  may  be  for  half  a  century  in  decay  without 
exhibiting  much  outward  change ;  and  when,  in  some  tempestu- 
ous night,  half  its  bulk  is  torn  away,  the  neighborhood  notes  with 
surprise  that  what  seemed  solid  wood  is  dry  and  crumbling  pith. 
During  the  last  fifteen  years  of  Daniel  "Webster's  life,  his  wonder- 
fully imposing  form  and  his  immense  reputation  concealed  from 
the  public  the  decay  of  his  powers  and  the  degeneration  of  his 
morals.  At  least,  few  said  what  perhaps  many  felt,  that  "  he  was 
not  the  man  he  had  been."  People  went  away  from  one  of  his 
ponderous  and  empty  speeches  disappointed,  but  not  ill  pleased 
to  boast  that  they  too  had  "  heard  Daniel  Webster  speak,"  and 
feeling  very  sure  that  he  could  be  eloquent,  though  he  had  not 
been.  We  heard  one  of  the  last  of  his  out-of-door  speeches.  It 
was  near  Philadelphia,  in  1844,  when  he  was  "  stumping  the 
State "  for  Henry  Clay,  and  when  our  youthful  feelings  were 
warmly  with  the  object  of  his  speech.  What  a  disappointment! 
How  poor  and  pompous  and  pointless  it  seemed  !  Nor  could  we 
resist  the  impression  that  he  was  playing  a  part,  nor  help  saying 
to  ourselves,  as  we  turned  to  leave  the  scene,  "  This  man  is  not 
sincere  in  this :  he  is  a  humbug."  And  when,  some  years  later, 
we  saw  him  present  himself  before  a  large  audience  in  a  state  not 
far  removed  from  intoxication,  and  mumble  incoherence  for  ten 
minutes,  and  when,  in  tho  course  of  the  evening,  we  saw  him 
5* 


106  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

make  a  great  show  of  approval  whenever  the  clergy  were  com 
plimented,  the  impression  was  renewed  that  the  man  had  ex- 
pended his  sincerity,  and  that  nothing  was  real  to  him  any  more 
except  wine  and  office.  And  even  then  such  were  the  might  and 
majesty  of  his  presence,  that  he  seemed  to  fill  and  satisfy  the 
people  by  merely  sitting  there  in  an  arm-chair,  like  Jupiter,  in  a 
spacious  yellow  waistcoat  with  two  bottles  of  Madeira  under  it. 

All  this  gradual,  unseen  deterioration  of  mind  and  character 
was  revealed  to  the  country  on  the  7th  of  March,  1850.  What 
a  downfall  was  there  !  That  shameful  speech  reads  worse  in 
1867  than  it  did  in  1850,  and  still  exerts  perverting  power  over 
timid  and  unformed  minds.  It  was  the  very  time  for  him  to  have 
broken  finally  with  the  "  irreconcilable  "  faction,  who,  after  hav- 
ing made  President  Tyler  snub  Daniel  Webster  from  his  dearly 
loved  office  of  Secretary  of  State,  had  consummated  the  scheme 
which  gave  us  Texas  at  the  cost  of  war  with  Mexico,  and  Cali- 
fornia as  one  of  the  incidents  of  peace.  California  was  not  down 
in  their  programme  ;  and  now,  while  claiming  the  right  to  make 
four  slave  States  out  of  Texas,  they  refused  to  admit  California 
to  freedom.  Then  was  it  that  Daniel  Webster  of  Massachusetts 
rose  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  and  said  in  substance 
this  :  These  fine  Southern  brethren  of  ours  have  now  stolen  all 
the  land  there  is  to  steal.  Let  us,  therefore,  put  no  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  their  peaceable  enjoyment  of  the  plunder. 

And  the  spirit  of  the  speech  was  worse  even  than  its  doctrine. 
He  went  down  upon  the  knees  of  his  soul,  and  paid  base  homage 
to  his  own  and  his  country's  irreconcilable  foes.  Who  knew  bet- 
ter than  Daniel  Webster  that  John  C.  Calhoun  and  his  followers 
had  first  created  and  then  systematically  fomented  the  hostile 
feeling  which  then  existed  between  the  North  and  the  South  ? 
How  those  men  must  have  chuckled  among  themselves  when 
they  witnessed  the  willing  degradation  of  the  man  who  should 
have  arraigned  them  before  the  country  as  the  conscious  enemies 
of  its  peace !  How  was  it  that  no  one  laughed  outright  at  such 
billing  and  cooing  as  this  ? 

Mr.  Webster.  —  "  An  honorable  member  [Calhoun],  whose  health 
does  not  allow  him  to  be  here  to  day  —  " 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  107 

A  Senator.  —  "  He  is  here." 

Mr.  Webster.  —  "  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  that  he  is ;  may  he  long 
be  here,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  health  to  serve  his  country  ! " 
And  this :  — 

Mr.  Webster.  —  "  The  honorable  member  did  not  disguise  his  conduct 
or  his  motives." 

Mr.  Calhoun.  —  "  Never,  never." 

Mr.  Webster.  —  "  What  he  means  he  is  very  apt  to  say." 
Mr.  Calhoun.  —  "  Always,  always." 
Mr.  Webster.  —  "And  I  honor  him  for  it." 

And  this :  — 

Mr.  Webster.  —  "I  see  an  honorable  member  of  this  body  [Mason 
of  Virginia]  paying  me  the  honor  of  listening  to  my  remarks ;  he 
brings  to  my  mind,  Sir,  freshly  and  vividly,  what  I  learned  of  his  great 
ancestor,  so  much  distinguished  in  his  day  and  generation,  so  worthy  to 
be  succeeded  by  so  worthy  a  grandson." 

And  this :  — 

Mr.  Webster.  —  "  An  honorable  member  from  Louisiana  addressed 
us  the  other  day  on  this  subject.  I  suppose  there  is  not  a  more  amiable 
and  worthy  gentleman  in  this  chamber,  nor  a  gentleman  who  would  be 
more  slow  to  give  offence  to  anybody,  and  he  did  not  mean  in  his  re- 
marks to  give  offence.  But  what  did  he  say  ?  Why,  Sir,  he  took  pains 
to  run  a  contrast  between  the  slaves  of  the  South  and  the  laboring  peo- 
ple of  the  North,  giving  the  preference  in  all  points  of  condition  and 
comfort  and  happiness  to  the  slaves." 

In  the  course  of  this  speech  there  is  one  most  palpable  contra- 
diction. In  the  beginning  of  it,  the  orator  mentioned  the  change 
of  feeling  and  opinion  that  had  occurred  as  to  the  institution  of 
slavery,  —  "  the  North  growing  much  more  warm  and  strong 
against  slavery,  and  the  South  growing  much  more  warm  and 
strong  in  its  support."  "Once,"  he  said,  "the  most  eminent  men, 
and  nearly  all  the  conspicuous  politicians  of  the  South,  held  the 
same  sentiments,  —  that  slavery  was  an  evil,  a  blight,  a  scourge, 
and  a  curse " ;  but  now  it  is  "  a  cherished  institution  in  that 
quarter ;  no  evil,  no  scourge,  but  a  great  religious,  social,  and 
moral  blessing."  He  then  asked  how  this  change  of  opinion  had 
been  brought  about,  and  thus  answered  the  question  :  "  I  suppose, 


108  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

sir,  tliis  is  owing  to  the  rapid  growth  and  sudden  extension  of  the 
COTTON  plantations  in  the  South."  And  to  make  the  statement 
more  emphatic,  he  caused  the  word  cotton  to  be  printed  in  capi- 
tals in  the  authorized  edition  of  his  works.  But  later  in  the 
speech,  when  he  came  to  add  his  ponderous  condemnation  to  the 
odium  in  which  the  handful  of  Abolitionists  were  held,  —  the 
elite  of  the  nation  from  Franklin's  day  to  this,  —  then  he  attrib- 
uted this  remarkable  change  to  their  zealous  efforts  to  awaken 
the  nobler  conscience  of  the  country.  After  giving  his  own  ver- 
sion of  their  proceedings,  he  said :  "  Well,  what  was  the  result  ? 
The  bonds  of  the  slaves  were  bound  more  firmly  than  before, 
their  rivets  were  more  strongly  fastened.  Public  opinion,  which 
in  Virginia  had  begun  to  be  exhibited  against  slavery,  and  was 
opening  out  for  the  discussion  of  the  question,  drew  back  and  shut 
itself  up  in  its  castle." 

But  all  would  not  do.  He  bent  the  knee  in  vain.  Vain  too 
were  his  personal  efforts,  his  Southern  tour,  his  Astor  House  woo- 
ings, — the  politicians  would  have  none  of  him ;  and  he  had  the  cut- 
ting mortification  of  seeing  himself  set  aside  for  a  Winfield  Scott. 

Let  us  not,  however,  forget  that  on  this  occasion,  though  Dan- 
iel Webster  appeared  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  as  a  leader,  he 
was  in  reality  still  only  a  follower,  —  a  follower,  not  of  the  public 
opinion  of  the  North,  but  of  the  wishes  of  its  capitalists.  And 
probably  many  thousands  of  well-meaning  men,  not  versed  in  the 
mysteries  of  politics,  were  secretly  pleased  to  find  themselves  pro- 
vided with  an  excuse  for  yielding  once  more  to  a  faction,  who 
had  over  us  the  immense  advantage  of  having  made  up  their 
minds  to  carry  their  point  or  fight.  If  his  was  the  shame  of  this 
speech,  ours  was  the  guilt.  He  faithfully  represented  the  portion 
of  his  constituents  whose  wine  he  drank,  who  helped  him  out 
with  his  notes,  and  who  kept  his  atmosphere  hazy  with  incense  ; 
and  he  faithfully  represented,  also,  that  larger  number  who  wait 
till  the  wolf  is  at  their  door  before  arming  against  him,  instead  of 
meeting  him  afar  off  in  the  outskirts  of  the  wood.  Let  us  own  it 
the  North  yearned  for  peace  in  1850,  —  peace  at  almost  any  price. 

One  of  the  most  intimate  of  Mr.  Webster's  friends  said,  in  a 
public  address :  "  It  is  true  that  he  desired  the  highest  political 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  109 

position  in  the  country,  —  that  he  thought  he  had  fairly  earned  a 
claim  to  that  position.  And  I  solemnly  believe  that  because  that 
claim  was  denied  his  days  were  shortened."  No  enemy  of  the 
great  orator  ever  uttered  anything  so  severe  against  him  as  this, 
and  we  are  inclined  to  think  it  an  error.  It  was  probably  the 
strength  of  his  desire  for  the  Presidency  that  shortened  his  life, 
not  the  mere  disappointment.  When  President  Fillmore  offered 
him  the  post  of  Secretary  of  State,  in  1850,  it  appears  to  have 
been  his  preference,  much  as  he  loved  office,  to  decline  it.  He 
longed  for  his  beautiful  Marshfield,  on  the  shore  of  the  ocean,  his 
herds  of  noble  cattle,  his  broad,  productive  fields,  his  yachts,  his 
fishing,  his  rambles  in  the  forests  planted  by  his  own  hand,  his 
homely  chats  with  neighbors  and  beloved  dependents.  "  Oh  ! " 
said  he,  "  if  I  could  have  my  own  will,  never,  never  would  I  leave 
Marshfield  again  ! "  But  his  "  friends,"  interested  and  disinter- 
ested, told  him  it  was  a  shorter  step  from  the  office  of  Secretary 
Df  State  to  that  of  President  than  from  the  Senate-chamber.  He 
yielded,  as  he  always  did,  and  spent  a  long,  hot  summer  in  Wash- 
ington, to  the  sore  detriment  of  his  health.  And  again,  in  1852, 
after  he  had  failed  to  receive  the  nomination  for  the  Presidency, 
he  was  offered  the  place  of  Minister  to  England.  His  "  friends  " 
again  advised  against  his  acceptance.  His  letter  to  the  President, 
declining  the  offer,  presents  him  in  a  sorry  light  indeed.  u  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  think  no  more  about  the  English  mission. 
My  principal  reason  is,  that  I  think  it  would  be  regarded  as  a 
descent  ....  I  have  been  accustomed  to  give  instructions  to 
ministers  abroad,  and  not  to  receive  them."  Accustomed  !  Yes  : 
for  two  years  !  It  is  probable  enough  that  his  acceptance  of  of- 
fice, and  his  adherence  to  it,  hastened  his  death.  Four  months 
after  the  words  were  written  which  we  have  just  quoted,  he  was 
no  more. 

His  last  days  were  such  as  his  best  friends  could  have  wished 
them  to  be,  —  calm,  dignified,  affectionate,  worthy  of  his  lineage. 
His  burial,  too,  was  singularly  becoming,  impressive,  and  touch- 
ing. We  have  been  exceedingly  struck  with  the  account  of  it 
given  by  Mr.  George  S.  Hillard,  in  his  truly  elegant  and  elo- 
quent eulogy  upon  Mr.  Webster,  delivered  in  Faneuil  Hall.  In 


110  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

his  last  will,  executed  a  few  days  before  his  death,  Mr.  Webster 
requested  that  he  might  be  buried  "  without  the  least  show  or  os- 
tentation, but  in  a  manner  respectful  to  my  neighbors,  whose 
kindness  has  contributed  so  much  to  the  happiness  of  me  and 
mine."  His  wishes  were  obeyed ;  and  he  was  buried  more  as 
the  son  of  plain,  brave  Captain  Ebenezer  Webster,  than  as  Secre- 
tary of  State.  "No  coffin,"  said  Mr.  Hillard,  "concealed  that 
majestic  frame.  In  the  open  air,  clad  as  when  alive,  he  iay  ex- 
tended in  seeming  sleep,  with  no  touch  of  disfeature  upon  his 
brow,  —  as  noble  an  image  of  reposing  strength  as  ever  was  seen 
upon  earth.  Around  him  was  the  landscape  that  he  had  loved, 
and  above  him  was  nothing  but  the  dome  of  the  covering  'heav- 
ens. The  sunshine  fell  upon  the  dead  man's  face,  and  the  breeze 
blew  over  it.  A  lover  of  Nature,  he  seemed  to  be  gathered  into 
her  maternal  arms,  and  to  lie  like  a  child  upon  a  mother's  lap. 
We  felt,  as  we  looked  upon  him,  that  death  had  never  stricken 
down,  at  one  blow,  a  greater  sum  of  life.  And  whose  heart  did 
not  swell  when,  from  the  honored  and  distinguished  men  there 
gathered  together,  six  plain  Marshfield  farmers  were  called  forth 
to  carry  the  head  of  their  neighbor  to  the  grave.  Slowly  and 
sadly  the  vast  multitude  followed,  .in  mourning  silence,  and  he 
was  laid  down  to  rest  among  dear  and  kindred  dust." 

In  surveying  the  life  and  works  of  this  eminent  and  gifted 
man,  we  are  continually  struck  with' the  evidences  of  his  magni- 
tude. He  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  very  large  person.  His  brain 
was  within  a  little  of  being  one  third  larger  than  the  average, 
and  it  was  one  of  the  largest  three  on  record.  His  bodily  frame, 
in  all  its  parts,  was  on  a  majestic  scale,  and  his  presence  was  im- 
mense. He  liked  large  things,  —  mountains,  elms,  great  oaks, 
mighty  bulls  and  oxen,  wide  fields,  the  ocean,  the  Union,  and  all 
things  of  magnitude.  He  liked  great  Rome  far  better  than  refined 
Greece,  and  revelled  in  the  immense  things  of  literature,  such  as 
Paradise  Lost,  and  the  Book  of  Job,  Burke,  Dr.  Johnson,  and  the 
Sixth  Book  of  the  JEneid.  Homer  he  never  cared  much  for,  — • 
uor,  indeed,  anything  Greek.  He  hated,  he  loathed,  the  act  of 
writing.  Billiards,  ten-pins,  chess,  draughts,  whist,  he  never 
relished,  though  fond  to  excess  of  out-doer  pleasures,  like  hum 


DANIEL   WEBSTER.  Ill 

ing,  fishing,  yachting.  He  liked  to  be  alone  with  great  Nature, 
• —  alone  in  the  giant  woods  or  on  the  shores  of  the  resounding 
sea,  —  alone  all  day  with  his  gun,  his  dog,  and  his  thoughts,  — 
alone  in  the  morning,  before  any  one  was  astir  but  himself,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  sea  and  the  glorious  sunrise.  What  a  delicious 
picture  of  this  large,  healthy  Son  of  Earth  Mr.  Lanman  gives  u=, 
where  he  describes  him  coming  into  his  bedroom,  at  sunrise,  and 
startling  him  out  of  a  deep  sleep  by  shouting,  "  Awake,  sluggard  ! 
and  look  upon  this  glorious  scene,  for  the  sky  and  the  ocean  are 
enveloped  in  flames  !  "  He  was  akin  to  all  large,  slow  things  in 
nature.  A  herd  of  fine  cattle  gave  him  a  keen,  an  inexhaustible 
enjoyment;  but  he  never  "tasted"  a  horse:  he  had  no  horse 
enthusiasm.  In  England  he  chiefly  enjoyed  these  five  things, 
the  Tower  of  London,  "Westminster  Abbey,  Smithfield  Cattle 
Market,  English  farming,  and  Sir  Robert  Peel.  Sir  Robert  Peel 
he  thought  was  "  head  and  shoulders  above  any  other  man "  he 
had  ever  met  He  greatly  excelled,  too,  in  desci'ibing  immense 
things.  In  speaking  of  the  Pyramid?,  once,  he  asked,  "  Who 
can  inform  us  by  what  now  unknown  machines  mass  was  thus 
aggregated  to  mass,  and  quarry  piled  on  quarry,  till  solid  granite 
seemed  to  cover  the  earth  and  reach  the  skies."  His  peculiar 
love  of  the  Union  of  these  States  was  partly  due,  perhaps,  to  this 
habit  of  his  mind  of  dwelling  with  complacency  on  vastness.  He 
"elt  that  he  wanted  and  required  a  continent  to  live  in  :  his  mind 
vould  have  gasped  for  breath  in  New  Hampshire. 

But  this  enormous  creature  was  not  an  exception  to  the  law 
which  renders  giants  harmless  by  seaming  them  with  weakness, 
but  for  which  the  giants  would  possess  the  earth.  If  he  had 
been  completed  throughout  on  the  plan  on  which  he  was 
sketched,  if  he  had  been  as  able  to  originate  as  he  was  powerful 
to  state,  if  he  had  possessed  will  proportioned  to  his  strength, 
moral  power  equal  to  his  moral  feeling,  intellect  on  a  par  with 
his  genius,  and  principle  worthy  of  his  intellect,  he  would  have 
subjugated  mankind,  and  raised  his  country  to  a  point  from  which 
it  would  have  dropped  when  the  tyrannizing  influence  was 
withdrawn.  Every  sphere  of  life  has  its  peculiar  temptations, 
which  there  is  only  one  thing  that  can  enable  a  man  to  resist,  — 


112  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

a  religious,  i.  e.  a  disinterested  devotion  to  its  duties.  Daniel 
Webster  was  one  of  those  who  fell  before  the  seductions  of  his 
place.  He  was  not  one  of  those  who  find  in  the  happiness  and 
prosperity  of  their  country,  and  in  the  esteem  of  their  fellow- 
citizens,  their  own  sufficient  and  abundant  reward  for  serving  her. 
He  pined  for  something  lower,  smaller,  —  something  personal 
and  vulgar.  He  had  no  religion,  —  not  the  least  tincture  of  it ; 
and  he  seemed  at  last,  in  his  dealings  with  individuals,  to  have  no 
conscience.  What  he  called  his  religion  had  no  effect  whatever 
upon  the  conduct  of  his  life ;  it  made  him  go  to  church,  talk 
piously,  puff  the  clergy,  and  "  patronize  Providence,"  —  no  more. 
He  would  accept  retaining  fees,  and  never  look  into  the  bundles 
of  papers  which  accompanied  them,  in  which  were  enclosed  the 
hopes  and  the  fortune  of  anxious  households.  He  would  receive 
gifts  of  money,  and  toss  into  his  waste-paper  basket  the  list  of 
the  givers,  without  having  glanced  at  its  contents ;  thus  defraud- 
ing them  of  the  only  recompense  in  his  power  to  grant,  and  the 
only  one  they  wished.  It  shocked  him  if  his  secretary  came  to 
the  dinner-table  in  a  frock-coat,  and  he  would  himself  appear 
drunk  before  three  thousand  people.  And  yet,  such  was  the 
power  of  his  genius,  such  was  the  charm  of  his  manner,  such  the 
affectionateness  of  his  nature,  such  the  robust  heartiness  of  his 
enjoyment  of  life,  that  honorable  men  who  knew  his  faults  best 
loved  him  to  the  last,  —  not  in  spite  of  them,  but  partly  in  con- 
sequence of  them.  What  in  another  man  they  would  have  pro- 
nounced atrocious,  appeared  in  him  a  kind  of  graceful  rollicking 
helplessness  to  resist. 

Such,  as  it  seems  to  our  very  imperfect  judgment,  was  Daniel 
Webster,  one  of  the  largest  and  one  of  the  weakest  of  men,  of 
admirable  genius  and  deplorable  character ;  who  began  life  well 
and  served  his  country  well  and  often,  but  held  not  out  faithful 
to  the  end.  American  statesmen  are  called  to  a  higher  vocation 
than  those  of  other  countries,  and  there  is  nothing  in  the  politics 
of  America  which  can  reward  a  man  of  eminent  ability  for  pub- 
lic service.  If  such  a  person  feels  that  his  country's  happiness 
and  greatness  will  not  be  a  satisfying  recompense  for  anything  he 
can  do  for  her,  let  him,  as  he  values  his  peace  and  soul's  health, 
cling  to  the  safe  obscurity  of  private  life. 


JOHN    C.    CALHOUN. 


THERE  were  two  ways  of  getting  to  South  Carolina  in  Colonial 
times.  The  first  immigrants,  many  of  whom  were  men  of 
capital,  landed  at  Charleston,  and,  settling  in  the  fertile  low  coun- 
try along  the  coast,  became  prosperous  planters  of  rice,  indigo,  and 
corn,  before  a  single  white  inhabitant  had  found  his  way  to  the 
more  salubrious  upper  country  in  the  western  part  of  the  Prov- 
ince. The  settlers  of  the  upper  country  were  plain,  poorer  peo- 
ple, who  landed  at  Philadelphia  or  Baltimore,  and  travelled 
southward  along  the  base  of  the  Alleghanies  to  the  inviting  table- 
lands of  the  Carolinas.  In  the  lower  country,  the  estates  were 
large,  the  slaves  numerous,  the  white  inhabitants  few,  idle,  and 
profuse.  The  upper  country  was  peopled  by  a  sturdier  race, 
who  possessed  farms  of  moderate  extent,  hewn  out  of  the  wilder- 
ness by  their  own  strong  arms,  and  tilled  by  themselves  with  the 
aid  of  few  slaves.  Between  the  upper  and  the  lower  country 
there  was  a  waste  region  of  sandy  hills  and  rocky  acclivities,  un- 
inhabited, almost  uninhabitable,  which  rendered  the  two  sections 
of  one  Province  separate  communities  scarcely  known  to  one 
another.  Down  almost  to  the  beginning  of  the  Revolutionary 
War,  the  farmers  of  the  upper  country  were  not  represented  in 
the  Legislature  of  South  Carolina,  though  they  were  then  as  nu- 
merous as  the  planters  of  the  lower  country.  Between  the  peo- 
ple of  the  two  sections  there  was  little  unity  of  feeling.  The 
lordly  planters  of  the  lower  country  regarded  their  "Western  fel- 
low-citizens as  provincial  or  plebeian ;  the  farmers  of  the  upper 
country  had  some  contempt  for  the  planters  as  effeminate,  aristo- 
cratic, and  Tory.  The  Revolution  abased  the  pride,  lessened  the 
wealth,  and  improved  the  politics  of  the  planters  ;  a  revised  Con« 


116  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

stitution,  in  1790,  gave  preponderance  to  the  up-country  farmers 
in  the  popular  branch  of  the  Legislature ;  and  thenceforth  South 
Carolina  was  a  sufficiently  homogeneous  commonwealth. 

Looking  merely  to  the  public  career  of  Calhoun,  the  special 
pleader  of  the  Southern  aristocracy,  we  should  expect  to  find  him 
born  and  reared  among  the  planters  of  the  Jow  country.  The 
Calhouns,  on  the  contrary,  were  up-country  people,  —  farmers, 
Whigs,  Presbyterians,  men  of  moderate  means,  who  wielded  the 
axe  and  held  the  plough  with  their  own  hands,  until  enabled  to 
buy  a  few  "  new  negroes,"  cheap  and  savage ;  called  new,  be- 
cause fresh  from  Africa.  A  family  party  of  them  (parents,  four 
sons,  and  a  daughter)  emigrated  from  the  North  of  Ireland  early 
in  the  last  century,  and  settled  first  in  Pennsylvania ;  then  re- 
moved to  Western  Virginia ;  whence  the  defeat  of  Braddock,  in 
1755,  drove  them  southward,  and  they  found  a  permanent  abode 
in  the  extreme  west  of  South  Carolina,  then  an  unbroken  wilder- 
ness. Of  those  four  sons,  Patrick  Calhoun,  the  father  of  the  Nul- 
lifier,  was  the  youngest.  He  was  six  years  old  when  the  family 
left  Ireland  ;  twenty -nine,  when  they  planted  the  "  Calhoun  Set* 
tlement "  in  Abbeville  District,  South  Carolina. 

Patrick  Calhoun  was  a  strong-headed,  wrong-headed,  wry 
brave,  honest,  ignorant  man.  His  whole  life,  almost,  was  a  bat- 
tle. When  the  Calhouns  had  been  but  five  years  in  their  forest 
home,  the  Cherokees  attacked  the  settlement,  destroyed  it  ut- 
terly, killed  one  half  the  men,  and  drove  the  rest  to  the  lower 
country;  whence  they  dared  not  return  till  the  peace  of  1763. 
Patrick  Calhoun  was  elected  to  command  the  mounted  rangers 
raised  to  protect  the  frontiers,  a  duty  heroically  performed  by 
him.  After  the  peace,  the  settlement  enjoyed  several  years  of 
tranquillity,  during  which  Patrick  Calhoun  was  married  to  Martha 
Caldwell,  a  native  of  Virginia,  but  the  daughter  of  an  Irish  Pres 
byterian  emigrant.  During  this  peaceful  interval,  all  the  family 
prospered  with  the  settlement  which  bore  its  name  ;  and  Patrick, 
who  in  his  childhood  had  only  learned  to  read  and  write,  availed 
himself  of  such  leisure  as  he  had  to  increase  his  knowledge.  Be- 
sides reading  the  books  within  his  reach,  which  were  few,  he 
learned  to  survey  land,  and  practised  that  vocation  to  advantage. 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  117 

He  was  especially  fond  of  reading  history  to  gather  new  proofs  of 
the  soundness  of  his  political  opinions,  which  were  Whig  to  the 
uttermost.  The  war  of  the  Revolution  broke  in  upon  the  settle- 
ment, at  length,  and  made  deadly  havoc  there ;  for  it  was  warrod 
upon  by  three  foes  at  once,  —  the  British,  the  Tories,  and  the 
Cherokees.  The  Tories  murdered  in  cold  blood  a  brother  of 
Patrick  Calhoun's  wife.  Another  of  her  brothers  fell  at  Cow- 
pens  under  thirty  sabre-wounds.  Another  was  taken  prisoner, 
and  remained  for  nine  mor.ths  in  close  confinement  at  one  of  tho 
British  Andersonvilles  of  that  day.  Patrick  Calhoun,  in  many  a 
desperate  encounter  with  the  Indians,  displayed  singular  coolness, 
courage,  adroitness,  and  tenacity.  On  one  memorable  occasion, 
thirteen  of  his  neighbors  and  himself  maintained  a  forest  fight  for 
several  hours  with  a  force  of  Cherokees  ten  times  their  number. 
When  seven  of  the  white  men  had  fallen,  the  rest  made  their  es- 
cape. Returning  three  days  after  to  bury  their  dead,  they  found 
upon  the  field  the  bodies  of  twenty-three  Indian  warriors.  At 
another  time,  as  his  son  used  to  relate,  he  had  a  very  long  com- 
bat with  a  chief  noted  for  the  certainty  of  his  aim,  —  the  Indian 
behind  a  tree,  the  white  man  behind  a  fallen  log.  Four  times 
the  wily  Calhoun  drew  the  Indian's  fire  by  elevating  his  hat  upon 
his  ramrod.  The  chief,  at  last,  could  not  refrain  from  looking  to 
see  the  effect  of  his  shot ;  when  one  of  his  shoulders  was  slightly 
exposed.  On  the  instant,  the  white  man's  rifle  sent  a  ball 
through  it ;  the  chief  fled  into  the  forest,  and  Patrick  Calhoun 
bore  off  as  a  trophy  of  the  fight  his  own  hat  pierced  with  four 
bullets. 

This  Patrick  Calhoun  illustrates  well  the  North-of-Ireland 
character ;  one  peculiarity  of  which  is  the  possession  of  will  dis- 
proportioned  to  intellect.  Hence  a  man  of  this  race  frequently 
appears  to  striking  advantage  in  scenes  which  demand  chiefly  an 
exercise  of  will ;  while  in  other  spheres,  which  make  larger  de- 
mands upon  the  understanding,  the  same  man  may  be  simply  mis- 
chievous. We  see  this  in  the  case  of  Andrew  Jackson,  who  at 
New  Orleans  was  glorious ;  at  Washington  almost  wholly  perni- 
cious ;  and  in  the  case  of  Andrew  Johnson,  who  was  eminently 
useful  to  his  country  in  1861,  but  obstructive  and  perilous  to  it  in 


118  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

1866.  For  these  Scotch-Irishmen,  though  they  are  usually  very 
honest  men,  and  often  right  in  their  opinions,  are  an  uninstructa- 
ble  race,  who  stick  to  a  prejudice  as  tenaciously  as  to  a  principle, 
and  really  suppose  they  are  battling  for  right  and  truth,  when 
they  are  only  wreaking  a  private  vengeance  or  aiming  at  a  per- 
sonal advantage.  Patrick  Calhoun  was  the  most  radical  of  Dem- 
ocrats ;  one  of  your  despisers  of  conventionality ;  an  enemy  of 
lawyers,  thinking  the  common  sense  of  mankind  competent  to 
decide  what  is  right  without  their  aid ;  a  particular  opponent  of 
the  arrogant  pretensions  of  the  low-country  aristocrats.  When 
the  up-country  people  began  to  claim  a  voice  in  the  government, 
long  since  due  to  their  numbers,  the  planters,  of  course,  opposed 
their  demand.  To  establish  their  right  to  vote,  Patrick  Calhoun 
and  a  party  of  his  neighbors,  armed  with  rifles,  marched  across 
the  State  to  within  twenty-three  miles  of  Charleston,  and  there 
voted  in  defiance  of  the  plantation  lords.  Events  like  this  led  to 
the  admission  of  members  from  the  up-country ;  and  Patrick  Cal- 
houn was  the  first  to  represent  that  section  in  the  Legislature. 
It  was  entirely  characteristic  of  him  to  vote  against  the  adoption 
of  the  Federal  Constitution,  on  the  ground  that  it  authorized  other 
people  to  tax  Carolinians ;  which  he  said  was  taxation  without 
representation.  That  was  just  like  a  narrow,  cranky,  opiniona- 
tive,  unmanageable  Calhoun. 

Devoid  of  imagination  and  of  humor,  a  hard-headed,  eager 
politician,  he  brought  up  his  boy  upon  politics.  This  was  sorry 
nourishment  for  a  child's  mind,  but  he  had  little  else  to  give  him. 
Gambling,  hunting,  whiskey,  and  politics  were  all  there  was  to 
relieve  the  monotony  of  life  in  a  Southern  back  settlement ;  and 
the  best  men  naturally  threw  themselves  upon  politic?.  Calhoun 
told  Miss  Martineau  that  he  could  remember  standing  between 
his  father's  knees,  when  he  was  only  five  years  old,  and  listening 
to  political  conversation.  He  told  Duff  Green  that  he  had  a  dis- 
tinct recollection  of  hearing  hi?  father  say,  when  he  was  only 
nine,  that  that  government  is  best  which  allows  to  oach  individual 
the  largest  liberty  compatible  with  order  and  tranquillity,  and  that 
improvements  in  political  science  consist  in  throwing  off  needless 
restraints.  It  was  a  strange  child  that  could  remember  such  a 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  119 

remark.  As  Patrick  Calhoun  died  in  1795,  when  his  son  was 
thirteen  years  old,  the  boy  must  have  been  very  young  Avhen  he 
heard  it,  even  if  he  were  mistaken  as  to  the  time.  Whether 
Patrick  Calhoun  ever  touched  upon  the  subject  of  slavery  in  his 
conversations  with  his  children,  is  not  reported.  We  only  know 
that,  late  in  the  career  of  Mr.  Calhoun,  he  used  to  be  taunted  by 
his  opponents  in  South  Carolina  with  having  once  held  that 
slavery  was  good  and  justifiable  only  so  far  as  it  was  preparatory 
to  freedom.  He  was  accused  of  having  committed  the  crime  of 
saying,  in  a  public  speech,  that  slavery  was  like  the  "  scaffolding  * 
of  an  edifice,  which,  after  having  served  its  temporary  purpose, 
would  be  taken  down,  of  course.  We  presume  he  said  this  ;  be- 
cause everything  in  his  later  .speeches  is  flatly  contradicted  in 
those  of  his  earlier  public  life.  Patrick  Calhoun  was  a  man  to 
give  a  reason  for  everything.  He  was  an  habitual  theorizer  and 
generalize!*,  without  possessing  the  knowledge  requisite  for  safe 
generalization.  It  is  very  probable  that  this  apology  for  slavery 
was  part  of  his  son's  slender  inheritance. 

John  Caldwell  Calhoun  —  born  in  1782,  the  youngest  but  one 
in  a  family  of  five  children  —  was  eighteen  years  old  before  he 
had  a  thought  of  being  anything  but  a  farmer.  His  father  had 
been  dead  five  years.  His  only  sister  was  married  to  that  famous 
Mr.  Waddell,  clergyman  and  schoolmaster,  whose  academy  in 
North  Carolina  was  for  so  many  years  a  great  light  in  a  dark  place. 
One  of  his  brothers  was  a  clerk  in  a  mercantile  house  at  Charles- 
ton ;  another  was  settled  on  a  farm  near  by ;  another  was  still  a 
boy.  His  mother  lived  upon  the  paternal  farm ;  and  with  her 
lived  her  son  John,  who  ploughed,  hunted,  fished,  and  rode,  in  the 
manner  of  the  farmers'  sons  in  that  country.  At  eighteen  he 
could  read,  write,  and  cipher;  he  had  read  Rollin,  Robertson, 
Voltaire's  Charles  XII.,  Brown's  Essays,  Captain  Cook,  and  parts 
of  Locke.  This,  according  to  his  own  account,  was  the  sum  of 
his  knowledge,  except  that  he  had  fully  imbibed  his  father's 
decided  republican  opinions.  He  shared  to  some  degree  his  fa- 
ther's prejudice,  and  the  general  prejudice  of  the  upper  country, 
against  lawyers ;  although  a  cousin,  John  Ewing  Calhoun,  had 
risen  Uigh  in  that  profession,  had  long  served  in  the  Legislature 


120  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

of  South  Carolina  and  was  about  to  be  elected  United  States 
Senator  on  the  Jeftersonian  side.  As  late  as  May  1800,  when  he 
was  past  eighteen,  preference  and  necessity  appeared  to  fix  him 
in  the  vocation  of  farmer.  The  family  had  never  been  rich. 
Indeed,  the  great  Nullifier  himself  was  a  comparatively  poor 
man  all  his  life,  the  number  of  his  slaves  never  much  exceeding 
thirty ;  which  is  equivalent  to  a  working  force  of  fifteen  hands  or 
less. 

In  May,  1800,  Calhoun's  elder  brother  came  home  from 
Charleston  to  spend  the  summer,  bringing  with  him  his  city  no- 
tions. He  awoke  the  dormant  ambition  of  the  youth,  urged  him 
to  go  to  school  and  become  a  professional  man.  But  how  could 
he  leave  his  mother  alone  on  the  farm  ?  and  how  could  the  money 
be  raised  to  pay  for  a  seven  years'  education  ?  His  mother  and 
his  brother  conferred  upon  these  points,  and  satisfied  him  upon 
both ;  and  in  June,  1800,  he  made  his  way  to  the  academy  of  his 
brother-in-law,  "Waddell,  which  was  then  in  Columbia  County, 
Georgia,  fifty  miles  from  the  home  of  the  Calhouns.  In  two 
years  and  a  quarter  from  the  day  he  first  opened  a  Latin  gram- 
mar, he  entered  the  Junior  Class  of  Yale  College.  This  was 
quick  work.  Teachers,  however,  are  aware  that  late  beginners, 
who  have  spent  their  boyhood  in  growing,  often  stride  past  stu- 
dents who  have  passed  theirs  in  stunting  the  growth  of  mind  and 
body  at  school.  Calhoun,  late  in  life,  often  spoke  of  the  immense 
advantage  which  Southern  boys  had  over  Northern  in  not  going 
so  early  to  school,  and  being  so  much  on  horseback  and  out  of 
doors.  He  said  one  day,  about  the  year  1845:  "At  the  North 
you  overvalue  intellect ;  at  the  South  we  rely  upon  character ; 
and  if  ever  there  should  be  a  collision  that  shall  test  the  strength 
of  ;he  two  sections,  you  will  find  that  character  is  stronger  than 
intellect,  and  will  carry  the  day."  The  prophecy  has  been  ful- 
filled. 

Timothy  Dwight,  Calvinist  and  Federalist,  was  President  of 
Yale  College  during  Calhoun's  residence  there,  and  Thomas  Jef- 
ferson, Democrat  and  freethinker,  was  President  of  the  United 
States.  Yale  was  a  stronghold  of  Federalism.  A  brother  of  the 
President  of  the  College,  in  his  Fourth-of-July  oration  delivered 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  121 

at  New  Haven  four  months  after  the  inauguration  of  Jefferson 
and  Burr,  announced  to  the  students  and  citizens,  that  "  the  great 
object "  of  those  gentlemen  and  their  adherents  was  "  to  destroy 
every  trace  of  civilization  in  the  world,  and  to  force  mankind 
back  into  a  savage  state."  He  also  used  the  following  language : 
"  We  have  now  reached  the  consummation  of  democratic  blessed- 
ness. We  have  a  country  governed  by  blockheads  and  knaves , 
the  ties  of  marriage,  with  all  its  felicities,  are  severed  and  de- 
stroyed ;  our  wives  and  daughters  are  thrown  into  the  stews ; 
our  children  are  cast  into  the  world  from  the  breast  forgotten ; 
filial  piety  is  extinguished ;  and  our  surnames,  the  only  mark  of 
distinction  among  families,  are  abolished.  Can  the  imagination 
paint  anything  more  dreadful  this  side  hell?"  These  remark- 
able statements,  so  far  from  surprising  the  virtuous  people  of 
New  Haven,  were  accepted  by  them,  it  appears,  as  facts,  and 
published  with  general  approval.  From  what  we  know  of  Pres- 
ident Dwight,  we  may  conclude  that  he  would  regard  his  brother's 
oration  as  a  pardonable  flight  of  hyperbole,  based  on  truth.  He 
was  a  Federalist  of  the  deepest  dye. 

Transferred  to  a  scene  where  such  opinions  prevailed,  it  cost 
the  young  republican  no  great  exertion  either  of  his  intellect  or 
his  firmness  or  his  family  pride  to  hold  his  ground.  Of  all 
known  men,  he  had  the  most  complete  confidence  in  the  infalli- 
bility of  his  own  mind.  He  used  to  relate,  that  in  the  Senior 
year,  when  he  was  one  of  very  few  in  a  class  of  seventy  who 
maintained  republican  opinions,  President  Dwight  asked  him, 
"  What  is  the  legitimate  source  of  power  ? "  "  The  people," 
answered  the  student.  Dr.  Dwight  combated  this  opinion  ;  Cal- 
houn  replied ;  and  the  whole  hour  of  recitation  was  consumed  in 
the  debate.  Dr.  Dwight  was  so  much  struck  with  the  ability 
displayed  by  the  student,  that  he  remarked  to  a  friend  that  Cal- 
houn  had  talent  enough  to  be  President  of  the  United  States,  and 
that  we  should  see  him  President  in  due  time.  In  those  in- 
nocent days,  an  observation  of  that  nature  was  made  of  every 
young  fellow  who  showed  a  little  spirit  and  a  turn  for  debate. 
Fathers  did  not  then  say  to  their  promising  offspring,  Beware,  my 
son,  of  self-seeking  and  shallow  speaking,  lest  you  should  be  con- 
6 


122  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

signed  to  the  "White  House,  and  be  devoured  by  office-seekers. 
People  then  regarded  the  Presidency  as  a  kind  of  reward  of 
merit,  the  first  step  toward  which  was  to  get  "  up  head  "  in  the 
spelling-class.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  young  Calhoun 
took  the  prediction  of  the  Doctor  very  seriously.  He  took  every- 
thing seriously.  He  never  made  a  joke  in  his  life,  and  was  to- 
tally destitute  of  the  sense  of  humor.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  was 
ever  capable  of  unbending  so  far  as  to  play  a  game  of  football. 

The  ardent  political  discussions  then  in  vogue  had  one  effect 
which  the  late  Mr.  Buckle*  would  have  pronounced  most  salutary  ; 
they  prevented  Dr.  Dwight's  severe  theology  from  taking  hold  of 
the  minds  of  many  students.  Calhoun  wholly  escaped  it.  In 
his  speeches  we  find,  of  course,  the  stock  allusions  of  a  religious 
nature  with  which  all  politicians  essay  to  flatter  their  constituents  ; 
but  he  was  never  interested  in  matters  theological.  A  century 
earlier,  he  might  have  been  the  Jonathan  Edwards  of  the  South, 
if  there  had  been  a  South  then.  His  was  just  the  mind  to  have 
revelled  in  theological  subtilties,  and  to  have  calmly,  closely,  un- 
relentingly argued  nearly  the  whole  human  race  into  endless  and 
hopeless  perdition.  His  was  just  the  nature  to  have  contemplated 
his  argument  with  complacency,  and  its  consequence"  without 
emotion. 

Graduating  with  credit  in  1804,  he  repaired  to  the  famous 
Law  School  at  Litchfield  in  Connecticut,  where  he  remained  a 
year  and  a  half,  and  won  general  esteem.  Tradition  reports  him 
a  diligent  student  and  an  admirable  debater  there.  As  to  his 
moral  conduct,  that  was  always  irreproachable.  That  is  to  say, 
he  was  at  every  period  of  his  life  continent,  temperate,  orderly, 
and  out  of  debt.  In  1806.  being  then  twenty-four  years  of  age, 
he  returned  to  South  Carolina,  and,  after  studying  a  short  time 
in  a  law  office  at  Charleston,  he  went  at  last  to  his  native  Abbe- 
ville to  complete  his  preparation  for  the  bar.  He  was  still  a  law 
student  at  that  place  when  the  event  occurred  which  called  him 
into  public  life. 

June  22d,  1807,  at  noon,  the  United  States  frigate  Chesapeake, 
thirty-eight  guns,  left  her  anchorage  at  Hampton  Roads,  and  put 
to  sea,  bound  for  the  Mediterranean.  The  United  States 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  12H 

at  peace  with  all  the  world,  the  Chesapeake  was  very  far  from 
being  in  proper  man-of-war  trim.  Her  decks  were  littered  with 
furniture,  baggage,  stores,  cables,  and  animals.  The  guns  were 
loaded,  but  rammers,  matches,  wadding,  cannon-balls,  were  all 
out  of  place,  and  not  immediately  accessible.  The  crew  were 
merchant  sailors  and  landsmen,  all  undrilled  in  the  duties  pecu- 
liar to  an  armed  ship.  There  had  been  lying  for  some  time  at 
the  same  anchorage  the  British  frigate  Leopard,  fifty  guns ;  and 
this  ship  also  put  to  sea  at  noon  of  the  same  day.  The  Leopard 
being  in  perfect  order,  and  manned  by  a  veteran  crew,  took  the 
lead  of  the  Chesapeake,  and  kept  it  until  three  in  the  afternoon, 
when  she  was  a  mile  in  advance.  Then  she  wore  round,  came 
within  speaking  distance,  lowered  a  boat,  and  sent  a  lieutenant 
on  board  the  American  ship.  This  officer  bore  a  despatch  from 
the  admiral  of  the  station,  ordering  any  captain  who  should  fall 
in  with  the  Chesapeake  to  search  her  for  deserters.  The  Amer- 
ican commander  replied  that  he  knew  of  no  deserters  on  board 
his  ship,  and  could  not  permit  a  search  to  be  made,  his  orders  not 
authorizing  the  same.  The  lieutenant  returned.  As  soon  as  he 
had  got  on  board,  and  his  boat  was  stowed  away,  the  Leopard 
fired  a  full  broadside  into  the  American  frigate.  The  American 
commodore,  being  totally  unprepared  for  such  an  event,  could  not 
return  the  fire ;  and  therefore,  when  his  ship  had  received  twenty- 
one  shot  in  her  hull,  when  her  rigging  was  much  cut  up,  when 
three  of  her  crew  were  killed  and  eighteen  wounded,  the  commo- 
dore himself  among  the  latter,  he  had  no  choice  but  to  lower  his 
flag.  Then  the  search  was  made,  and  four  men,  claimed  as 
deserters,  were  taken ;  after  which  the  Leopard  continued  her 
course,  and  the  crippled  Chesapeake  returned  to  Hampton  Roads. 
The  American  commander  was  sentenced  by  a  court-martial  to 
five  years'  suspension  for  going  to  sea  in  such  a  condition.  The 
English  government  recalled  the  admiral  who  ordered,  and  de 
prived  of  his  ship  the  captain  who  committed,  this  unparalleled 
outrage,  but  made  no  other  reparation. 

No  words  of  ours  could  convey  any  adequate  idea  of  the  rage 
which  this  event  excited  in  the  people  of  the  United  States.  For 
a  time,  the  Federalists  themselves  were  ready  for  war.  There 


124  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

were  meetings  everywhere  to  denounce  it,  and  especially  in  thj 
Southern  States,  always  more  disposed  than  the  Northern  to  be- 
gin the  shedding  of  blood,  and  already  the  main  reliance  of  the 
Republican  party.  Remote  and  rustic  Abbeville,  a  very  Repub- 
lican district,  was  not  silent  on  this  occasion  ;  and  who  so  proper 
to  draw  and  support  the  denunciatory  resolutions  as  young  Cal- 
houn,  the  son  of  valiant  Patrick,  fresh  from  college,  though  now 
in  his  twenty-sixth  year?  The  student  performed  this  duty,  as 
requested,  and  spoke  so  well  that  his  neighbors  at  once  concluded 
that  he  was  the  very  man,  lawyer  as  he  was,  to  represent  them 
in  the  Legislature,  where  for  nearly  thirty  years  his  father  had 
served  them.  At  the  next  election,  in  a  district  noted  for  its 
aversion  to  lawyers,  wherein  no  lawyer  had  ever  been  chosen  to 
the  Legislature,  though  many  had  been  candidates,  he  was  elected 
at  the  head  of  his  ticket.  His  triumph  was  doubtless  owing  in  a 
great  degree  to  the  paramount  influence  of  his  family.  Still, 
even  we,  who  knew  him  only  in  his  gaunt  and  sad  decline,  can 
easily  imagine  that  at  twenty-six  he  must  have  been  an  engag- 
ing, attractive  man.  Like  most  of  his  race,  he  was  rather  slen- 
der, but  very  erect,  with  a  good  deal  of  dignity  and  some  grace 
in  his  carriage  and  demeanor.  His  eyes  were  always  remarkably 
line  and  brilliant.  He  had  a  well- developed  and  strongly  set  nose, 
cheek-bones  high,  and  cheeks  rather  sunken.  His  mouth  was 
large,  and  could  never  have  been  a  comely  feature.  His  early 
portraits  show  his  hair  erect  on  his  forehead,  as  we  all  remem- 
ber it,  unlike  Jackson,  whose  hair  at  forty  still  fell  low  over  his 
forehead.  His  voice  could  never  have  been  melodious,  but  it  was 
always  powerful.  At  every  period  of  his  life,  his  manners,  when 
in  company  with  his  inferiors  in  age  or  standing,  were  extremely 
agreeable,  even  fascinating.  We  have  heard  a  well-known  edi- 
tor, who  began  life  as  a  "  page  "  in  the  Senate-chamber,  say  that 
there  was  no  Senator  whom  the  pages  took  such  delight  in  serv- 
ing as  Mr.  Calhoun.  "  Why  ?  "  —  "  Because  he  was  so  democra- 
tic." —  "  How  democratic  ?  "  —  "  He  was  as  polite  to  a  page  as  to 
the  President  of  the  Senate,  and  as  considerate  of  his  feelings." 
We  have  heard  another  member  of  the  press,  whose  first  employ- 
ment was  to  report  the  speeches  of  Clay,  Webster,  and  Calhou^ 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  125 

beai  similar  testimony  to  the  frank,  engaging  courtesy  of  his  ii> 
tercourse  with  the  corps  of  reporters.  It  is  fair,  therefore,  to  con- 
clude that  his  early  popularity  at  home  was  due  as  much  to  hia 
character  and  manners  as  to  his  father's  name  and  the  influence 
of  his  relatives. 

He  served  two  years  in  the  Legislature,  and  in  the  intervals 
between  the  sessions  practised  law  at  Abbeville.  At  once  he  took 
a  leading  position  in  the  Legislature.  He  had  been  in  his  seat 
but  a  few  days  when  the  Republican  members,  as  the  custom 
then  was,  met  in  caucus  to  nominate  a  President  and  Vice-Presi- 
dent  of  the  United  States.  For  Mr.  Madison  the  caucus  was 
unanimous,  but  there  was  a  difference  with  regard  to  the  Vice- 
Presidency,  then  filled  by  the  aged  George  Clinton  of  New  York, 
who  represented  the  and- Virginian  wing  of  the  party  in  power. 
Mr.  Calhoun,  in  a  set  speech,  opposed  the  renomination  of  Gov- 
ernor Clinton,  on  the  ground  that  in  the  imminency  of  a  war  with 
England  the  Republican  party  ought  to  present  an  unbroken 
front.  He  suggested  the  nomination  of  John  Langdon  of  New 
Hampshire  for  the  second  office.  At  this  late  day  we  cannot  de- 
termine whether  this  suggestion  was  original  with  Mr.  Calhoun. 
"We  only  know  that  the  caucus  affirmed  it,  and  that  the  nomi- 
nation was  afterwards  tendered  to  Mr.  Langdon  by  the  Republi- 
can party,  and  declined  by  him.  Mr.  Calhoun's  speech  oh  this 
occasion  was  the  expression  of  Southern  opinions  as  to  the  for- 
eign policy  of  the  country.  The  South  was  then  nearly  ready  for 
war  with  England,  while  Northern  Republicans  still  favored  Mr. 
Jefferson's  non-intercourse  policy.  In  this  instance,  as  in  so 
many  others,  we  find  the  Slave  States,  which  used  to  plume  them- 
selves upon  being  the  conservative  element  in  an  else  unrestrain- 
able  democracy,  ready  for  war  first,  though  far  from  being  the 
worst  sufferers  from  England's  piracies.  We  should  have  had  no 
war  from  1782  to  1865,  but  for  tl-em.  We  also  find  Mr.  Cal- 
houn, in  this  his  first  utterance  as  a  public  man,  the  mouth-piece 
of  his  "  section."  He  has  been  styled  the  most  inconsistent  of 
our  statesmen ;  but  beneath  the  palpable  contradictions  of  hia 
speeches,  there  is  to  be  noticed  a  deeper  consistency.  Whatever 
opinion,  whatever  policy,  he  may  have  advocated,  he  always 


126  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

spoke  the  sense  of  what  Mr.  Sumner  used  to  call  the  Southern 
oligarchy.  If  it  changed,  he  changed.  If  he  appeared  sometimes 
to  lead  it,  it  was  by  leading  it  in  the  direction  in  which  it  wanted 
to  go.  He  was  doubtless  as  sincere  in  this  as  any  great  special 
pleader  is  in  a  cause  in  which  all  his  powers  are  enlisted.  Cal- 
houn's  mind  was  narrow  and  provincial.  He  could  not  have 
been  the  citizen  of  a  large  place.  As  a  statesman  he  was  natu- 
rally the  advocate  of  something  special  and  sectional,  something 
not  the  whole. 

Distinguished  in  the  Legislature,  he  was  elected,  late  in  1810, 
by  a  very  great  majority,  to  represent  his  district  in  Congress. 
In  May,  1811,  he  was  married  to  a  second-cousin,  Floride  Cal- 
houn,  who  brought  a  considerable  accession  to  his  slender  estate. 
November  4,  1811,  he  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Represen- 
tatives. Thus,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-nine,  he  was  fairly 
launched  into  public  life,  with  the  advantage,  usually  enjoyed 
then  by  Southern  members,  of  being  independent  in  his  circum- 
stances. Though  unknown  to  the  country,  his  fame  had  preceded 
him  to  Washington  ;  and  the  Speaker,  Mr.  Clay,  gave  him  a 
place  on  the  Committee  on  Foreign  Relations.  This  Committee, 
considering  that  Congress  had  been  summoned  a  month  earlier 
than  usual  for  the  express  purpose  of  dealing  with  foreign  rela- 
tions, was  at  once  the  most  important  and  the  most  conspicuous 
committee  of  the  House. 

Mr.  Calhoun's  first  session  gave  him  national  reputation,  and 
made  him  a  leader  of  the  war  party  in  Congress.  We  could  per- 
haps say  the  leader,  since  Mr.  Clay  was  not  upon  the  floor.  After 
surveying  the  novel  scene  around  him  for  six  weeks,  he  delivered 
his  maiden  speech,  —  a  plain,  forcible,  not  extraordinary  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  preparing  for  war.  It  was  prodigiously  success- 
ful, so  far  as  the  reputation  of  the  speaker  was  concerned.  Mem- 
bers gathered  round  to  congratulate  the  young  orator ;  and  Fa- 
ther Ritchie  (if  he  was  a  father  then)  "  hailed  this  young  Caro- 
linian as  one  of  the  master  spirits  who  stamp  their  names  upon 
the  age  in  which  they  live."  This  speech  contains  one  passage 
which  savors  of  the  "  chivalric  "  taint,  and  indicates  the  provincial 
mind.  In  replying  to  the  objection  founded  on  the  expenses  of  a 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  127 

war,  he  said :  "  I  enter  my  solemn  protest  against  this  low  and 
calculating  avarice'  entering  this  hall  of  legislation.  It  is  only  Jit 
for  shops  and  counting-houses,  and  ought  not  to  disgrace  the  seat 
of  power  by  its  squalid  aspect.  Whenever  it  touches  sovereign 
power,  the  nation  is  ruined.  It  is  too  short-sighted  to  defend 
itself.  It  is  a  compromising  spirit,  always  ready  to  yield  a  pait 
to  save  the  residue.  It  is  too  timid  to  have  in  itself  the  laws  of 
self-preservation.  Sovereign  power  is  never  safe  but  under  the 
shield  of  honor."  This  was  thought  very  fine  talk  in  those  sim- 
ple days  among  the  simple  Southern  country  members. 

As  the  session  progressed,  Mr.  Calhoun  spoke  frequently,  and 
with  greater  effect.  "Wisely  he  never  spoke.  In  his  best  efforts 
we  see  that  something  which  we  know  not  what  to  name,  un- 
less we  call  it  Southernism.  If  it  were  allowable  to  use  a  slang 
expression,  we  should  style  the  passages  to  which  we  refer  ef- 
fective bosh.  The  most  telling  passage  in  the  most  telling 
speech  which  he  delivered  at  this  session  may  serve  to  illus- 
trate our  meaning.  Imagine  these  short,  vigorous  sentences 
uttered  with  great  rapidity,  in  a  loud,  harsh  voice,  and  with 
energy  the  most  intense  :  — 

"  Tie  down  a  hero,  and  he  feels  the  puncture  of  a  pin ;  throw  him 
into  battle,  and  he  is  almost  insensible  to  vital  gashes.  So  in  war. 
Impelled  alternately  by  hope  and  fear,  stimulated  by  revenge,  de- 
pressed by  shame,  or  elevated  by  victory,  the  people  become  invinci- 
ble. No  privation  can  shake  their  fortitude ;  no  calamity  break  their 
spirit.  Even  -when  equally  successful,  the  contrast  between  the  two 
systems  is  striking.  War  and  restriction  may  leave  the  country  equally 
exhausted ;  but  the  latter  not  only  leaves  you  poor,  but,  even  when 
successful,  dispirited,  divided,  discontented,  with  diminished  patriotism, 
and  the  morals  of  a  considerable  portion  of  your  people  corrupted. 
Not  so  in  war.  In  that  state,  the  common  danger  unites  all,  streng- 
thens the  bonds  of  society,  and  feeds  the  flame  of  patriotism.  The  na- 
tional character  mounts  to  energy.  In  exchange  for  the  expenses  and 
privat'ons  of  war,  you  obtain  military  and  naval  skill,  and  a  more  per- 
fect organization  of  such  parts  of  your  administration  as  are  connected 
with  the  science  of  national  defence.  Sir,  are  these  advantages  to  be 
counted  as  trifles  in  the  present  state  of  the  world?  Can  they  be 
measured  bj  moneyed  valuation?  I  would  prefer  a  single  victory 
over  the  enemy,  by  sea  or  land,  to  all  the  good  we  shall  ever  derive 


128  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

from  the  continuation  of  the  Non-importation  act.  I  know  not  that 
a  victory  would  produce  an  equal  pressure  on  the  enemy ;  but  I  am 
certain  of  what  is  of  greater  consequence,  it  would  be  accompanied  by 
more  salutary  effects  to  ourselves.  The  memory  of  Saratoga,  Prince- 
ton, and  Eutaw  is  immortal.  It  is  there  you  will  find  the  country's 
boast  and  pride,  —  the  inexhaustible  source  of  great  and  heroic  senti- 
ments. But  what  will  history  say  of  restriction  ?  What  examples 
worthy  of  imitation  will  it  furnish  to  posterity  ?  What  pride,  what 
pleasure  will  our  children  find  in  the  events  of  such  times  ?  Let  me 
not  be  considered  romantic.  This  nation  ought  to  be  taught  to  rely  on 
its  courage,  its  fortitude,  its  skill  and  virtue,  for  protection.  These  are 
the  only  safeguards  in  the  hour  of  danger.  Man  was  endued  with 
these  great  qualities  for  his  defence.  There  is  nothing  about  him  that 
indicates  that  he  is  to  conquer  by  endurance.  He  is  not  incrusted  in 
a  shell ;  he  is  not  taught  to  rely  upon  his  insensibility,  his  passive  suffer- 
ing, for  defence.  No,  sir ;  it  is  on  the  invincible  mind,  on  a  magnani- 
mous nature,  he  ought  to  rely.  Here  is  the  superiority  of  our  kind ;  it 
is  these  that  render  man  the  lord  of  the  world.  Nations  rise  above 
nations,  as  they  are  endued  in  a  greater  degree  with  these  brilliant 
qualities." 

This  passage  is  perfectly  characteristic  of  Calhoun,  whose 
speeches  present  hundreds  of  such  inextricable  blendings  of  truth 
and  falsehood. 

We  have  the  written  testimony  of  an  honorable  man,  still  liv- 
ing, Commodore  Charles  Stewart,  U.  S.  N.,  that  John  C.  Calhoun 
was  a  conscious  traitor  to  the  Union  as  early  as  1812.  In  De- 
cember of  that  year,  Captain  Stewart's  ship,  the  Constitution,  was 
refitting  at  the  Washington  Navy  Yard,  and  the  Captain  was 
boarding  at  Mrs.  Bushby's,  with  Mr.  Clay,  Mr.  Calhoun,  and 
many  other  Republican  members.  Conversing  one  evening  with 
the  new  member  from  South  Carolina,  he  told  him  that  he  was 
"  puzzled  "  to  account  for  the  close  alliance  which  existed  between 
the  Southern  planters  and  the  Northern  Democracy. 

"  You,"  said  Captain  Stewart,  "  in  the  South  and  Southwest,  are  de- 
cidedly the  aristocratic  portion  of  this  Union ;  you  are  so  in  holding 
persons  in  perpetuity  in  slavery ;  you  are  so  in  every  domestic  quality, 
K>  in  every  habit  in  your  lives,  living,  and  actions,  so  in  habits,  cus« 
toms,  intercourse,  and  manners ;  you  neither  work  with  your  hands, 
heads,  nor  any  machinery,  but  live  and  have  your  living,  not  in  ao> 


JOHN  0.   CALHOUN.  129 

eordance  with  the  will  of  your  Creator,  but  by  the  sweat  of  slavery, 
and  yet  you  assume  all  the  attributes,  professions,  and  ad  van!  ages  of 
democracy." 

Mr.  Calhoun,  aged  thirty,  replied  thus  to  Captain  Stewart,  aged 
thirty-four :  — 

"  I  see  you  speak  through  the  head  of  a  young  statesman,  and  from 
the  heart  of  a  patriot,  but  you  lose  sight  of  the  politician  and  the  sec- 
tional policy  of  the  people.  I  admit  your  conclusions  in  respect  to  us 
Southrons.  That  we  are  essentially  aristocratic,  I  cannot  deny  ;  but 
we  can  and  do  yield  much  to  democracy.  This  is  our  sectional  policy ; 
we  are  from  necessity  thrown  upon  and  solemnly  wedded  to  that  party, 
however  it  may  occasionally  clash  with  our  feelings,  for  the  conserva- 
tion of  our  interests.  It  is  through  our  affiliation  with  that  party  in 
the  Middle  and  Western  States  that  we  hold  power ;  but  when  we 
cease  thus  to  control  this  nation  through  a  disjointed  democracy,  or 
any  material  obstacle  in  that  party  which  shall  tend  to  throw  us  out  of 
that  rule  and  control,  we  shall  then  resort  to  the  dissolution  of  the 
Union.  The  compromises  in  the  Constitution,  under  the  circumstances, 
were  sufficient  for  our  fathers,  but,  under  the  altered  condition  of  our 
country  from  that  period,  leave  to  the  South  no  resource  but  dissolution ; 
for  no  amendments  to  the  Constitution  could  be  reached  through  a 
convention  of  the  people  under  their  three-fourths  rule." 

Probably  all  of  our  readers  have  seen  this  conversation  in 
print  before.  But  it  is  well  for  us  to  consider  it  again  and  again. 
It  is  the  key  to  all  the  seeming  inconsistencies  of  Mr.  Calhoun's 
career.  He  came  up  to  Congress,  and  took  the  oath  to  support 
the  Constitution,  secretly  resolved  to  break  up  the  country  just 
as  soon  as  the  Southern  planters  ceased  to  control  it  for  the 
maintenance  of  their  peculiar  interest.  The  reader  will  note,  too, 
the  distinction  made  by  this  young  man,  who  was  never  youthful, 
between  the  "  statesman  "  and  the  "  politician,"  and  between  tho 
"  heart  of  a  patriot "  and  "  the  sectional  policy  of  the  people." 
,  Turning  from  his  loathsome  and  despicable  exposition  to  tho 
Congressional  career  of  Mr.  Calhoun,  we  find  no  indication  there 
vf  the  latent  traitor.  He  was  merely  a  very  active,  energetic 
member  of  the  Republican  party ;  supporting  the  war  by  assid- 
uous labors  in  committee,  and  by  intense  declamation  of  the  kind 
of  which  we  have  given  a  specimen.  In  all  his  speeches  there 
6*  i 


130  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

is  not  a  touch  of  greatness.  He  declared  that  Demosthenes 
was  his  model,  —  an  orator  who  was  a  master  of  all  the  arts, 
all  the  artifices,  and  all  the  tricks  by  which  a  mass  of  igno- 
rant and  turbulent  hearers  can  be  kept  attentive,  but  who  has 
nothing  to  impart  to  a  member  of  Congress  who  honestly  desirea 
to  convince  his  equals.  Mr.  Calhoun's  harangues  in  the  sup- 
posed Demosthenean  style  gave  him,  however,  great  reputation 
out  of  doors,  while  his  diligence,  his  dignified  and  courteous 
manners,  gained  him  warm  admirers  on  the  floor.  He  was  a 
messmate  of  Mr.  Clay  at  this  time.  Besides  agreeing  in  politics, 
they  were  on  terms  of  cordial  personal  intimacy.  Henry  Clay, 
Speaker  of  the  House,  was  but  five  years  older  than  Calhoun, 
and  in  everything  but  years  much  younger.  Honest  patriots 
pointed  to  these  young  men  with  pride  and  hope,  congratulating 
each  other  that,  though  the  Revolutionary  statesmen  were  grow- 
ing old  and  passing  away,  the  high  places  of  the  Republic  would 
be  filled,  in  due  time,  by  men  worthy  to  succeed  them. 

When  the  war  was  over,  a  strange  thing  was  to  be  noted  in 
the  politics  of  the  United  States :  the  Federal  party  was  dead, 
but  the  Republican  party  had  adopted  its  opinions.  The  disas- 
ters of  the  war  had  convinced  almost  every  man  of  the  necessity 
of  investing  the  government  with  the  power  to  wield  the  re- 
sources of  the  country  more  readily ;  and,  accordingly,  we  find 
leading  Republicans,  like  Judge  Story,  John  Quincy  Adams,  and 
Mr.  Clay,  favoring  the  measures  which  had  formerly  been  the 
special  rallying-cries  of  the  Federalists.  Judge  Story  spoke  the 
feeling  of  his  party  when  he  wrote,  in  1815 :  "  Let  us  extend  the 
national  authority  over  the  whole  extent  of  power  given  by  the 
Constitution.  Let  us  have  great  military  and  naval  schools,  an 
adequate  regular  army,  the  broad  foundations  laid  of  a  permanent 
navy,  a  national  bank,  a  national  bankrupt  act,"  etc.,  etc.  The 
strict-constructionists  were  almost  silenced  in  the  general  cry, 
"  Let  us  be  a  Nation."  In  the  support  of  all  the  measures  to 
which  this  feeling  gave  rise,  especially  the  national  bank,  inter- 
nal improvements,  and  a  protective  tariff,  Mr.  Calhoun  went  as 
far  as  any  man,  and  farther  than  most;  for  such  at  that  time  was 
the  humor  of  the  planters. 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  131 

To  the  principle  of  a  protective  tariff  he  was  peculiarly  com- 
mitted. It  had  not  been  his  intention  to  take  part  in  the  debates 
on  the  Tariff  Bill  of  1816.  On  the  6th  of  April,  while  he  was 
busy  writing  in  a  committee-room,  Mr.  Samuel  D.  Ingham  of 
Pennsylvania,  his  particular  friend  and  political  ally,  came  to 
him  and  said  that  the  House  had  fallen  into  some  confusion  while 
discussing  the  tariff  bill,  and  added,  that,  as  it  was  "  difficult  to 
rally  so  large  a  body  when  once  broken  on  a  tax  bill,"  he  wished 
Mr.  Calhoun  would  speak  on  the  question  in  order  to  keep  the 
House  together.  "  What  can  I  say  ?  "  replied  the  member  from 
South  Carolina.  Mr.  Ingham,  however,  persisted,  and  Mr.  Cal- 
houn addressed  the  House.  An  amendment  had  just  been  intro- 
duced to  leave  cotton  goods  unprotected,  a  proposition  which  had 
been  urged  on  the  ground  that  Congress  had  no  authority  to 
impose  any  duty  except  for  revenue.  On  rising  to  speak,  Mr. 
Calhoun  at  once,  and  most  unequivocally,  committed  himself  to 
the  protective  principle.  He  began  by  saying,  that,  if  the  right 
to  protect  had  not  been  called  in  question,  he  would  not  have  spoken 
at  all.  It  was  solely  to  assist  in  establishing  that  right  that  he 
had  been  induced,  without  previous  preparation,  to  take  part  in 
the  debate.  He  then  proceeded  to  deliver  an  ordinary  protec- 
tionist speech ;  without,  however,  entering  upon  the  question  of 
constitutional  right.  He  merely  dwelt  upon  the  great  benefits  to 
be  derived  from  affording  to  our  infant  manufactures  "  immediate 
and  ample  protection."  That  the  Constitution  interposed  no 
obstacle,  was  assumed  by  him  throughout.  He  concluded  by  ob- 
serving, that  a  flourishing  manufacturing  interest  would  "  bind 
together  more  closely  our  widely-spread  republic,"  since  "  it  will 
greatly  increase  our  mutual  dependence  and  intercourse,  and 
excite  an  increased  attention  to  internal  improvements,  —  a  sub- 
ject every  way  so  intimately  connected  with  the  ultimate  attain- 
ment of  national  strength  and  the  perfection  of  our  political 
institutions."  He  further  observed,  that  "  the  liberty  and  union 
of  this  country  are  inseparable,"  and  that  the  destruction  of 
either  would  involve  the  destruction  of  the  other.  He  concluded 
his  speech  with  these  words :  "  Disunion,  —  this  single  word 
comprehends  almost  the  sum  of  our  political  dangers,  and  against 
t  we  ought  to  be  perpetually  guarded." 


132  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

The  lime  has  passed  for  any  public  man  to  claim  credit  for 
"  consistency."  A  person  who,  after  forty  years  of  public  Jife, 
can  truly  say  that  he  has  never  changed  an  opinion,  must  be 
either  a  demigod  or  a  fool.  We  do  not  blame  Mr.  Calhoun  for 
ceasing  to  be  a  protectionist  and  becoming  a  free-trader;  for  half 
the  thinking  world  has  changed  sides  on  that  question  during  the 
last  thirty  years.  A  growing  mind  must  necessarily  change  its 
opinions.  But  there  is  a  consistency  from  which  no  man,  public 
or  private,  can  ever  be  absolved,  —  the  consistency  of  his  state- 
ments with  fact.  In  the  year  1833,  in  his  speech  on  the  Force 
Bill,  Mr.  Calhoun  referred  to  his  tariff  speech  of  1816  in  a  man- 
ner which  excludes  him  from  the  ranks  of  men  of  honor.  He 
had  the  astonishing  audacity  to  say :  "  I  am  constrained  in  can- 
dor to  acknowledge,  for  I  wish  to  disguise  nothing,  that  the  pro  • 
tective  principle  was  recognized  by  the  Act  of  1816.  How  this 
was  overlooked  at  the  time,  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  say.  It 
escaped  my  observation,  which  I  can  account  for  only  on  the 
ground  that  the  principle  was  new,  and  that  my  attention  was 
engaged  by  another  important  subject."  The  charitable  reader 
may  interpose  here,  and  say  that  Mr.  Calhoun  may  have  for- 
gotten his  speech  of  1816.  Alas!  no.  He  had  that  speech  be- 
fore him  at  the  time.  Vigilant  opponents  had  unearthed  it,  and 
kindly  presented  a  copy  to  the  author.  We  do  not  believe  that, 
in  all  the  debates  of  the  American  Congress,  there  is  another  in- 
stance of  flat  falsehood  as  bad  as  this.  It  happens  that  the 
speech  of  1816  and  that  of  1833  are  both  published  in  the  same 
volume  of  the  Works  of  Mr.  Calhoun  (Vol.  II.  pp.  163  and  197). 
We  advise  our  readers  who  have  the  time  and  opportunity  to 
read  both,  if  they  wish  to  see  how  a  false  position  necessitates  a 
false  tongue.  Those  who  take  our  advice  will  also  discover  why 
it  was  that  Mr.  Calhoun  dared  to  utter  such  an  impudent  false- 
hood :  his  speeches  are  such  appallingly  dull  reading,  that  there 
was  very  little  risk  of  a  busy  people's  comparing  the  interpreta- 
tion with  the  text. 

It  was  John  C.  Calhoun  who,  later  in  the  same  session,  intro- 
duced the  bill  for  setting  apart  the  dividends  and  bonus  of  the 
United  States  Bank  as  a  permanent  fund  for  internal  improve- 


JOHN   C.   GALHOUfl.  133 

ments.  His  speech  on  this  bill,  besides  going  all  lengths  in  favor 
of  the  internal  improvement  system,  presents  some  amusing  con- 
trasts with  his  later  speeches  on  the  same  subject.  His  hearers 
of  1835  to  1850  must  have  smiled  on  reading  in  the  speech  of 
1817  such  sentences  as  these:  — 

"I  am  no  advocate  for  refined  arguments  on  the  Constitution.  The 
instrument  was  not  intended  as  a  thesis  for  the  logician  to  exercise  his 
ingenuity  on.  It  ought  to  be  construed  with  plain  good-sense."  "  If 
we  are  restricted  in  the  use  of  our  money  to  the  enumerated  powers, 
on  what  principle  can  the  purchase  of  Louisiana  be  justified  ?  "  "  The 
uniform  sense  of  Congress  and  the  country  furnishes  better  evidence 
of  the  true  interpretation  of  the  Constitution  than  the  most  refined  and 
subtle  arguments." 

Mark  this,  too  :  — 

"  In  a  country  so  extensive  and  so  various  in  its  interests,  what  is 
necessary  for  the  common  interest  may  apparently  be  opposed  to  the 
interest  of  particular  sections.  It  must  be  submitted  to  as  the  condition 
of  our  greatness" 

Well  might  he  say,  in  the  same  speech  :  — 

"  "We  may  reasonably  raise  our  eyes  to  a  most  splendid  future,  if  we 
only  act  in  a  manner  worthy  of  our  advantages.  If,  however,  neglect- 
ing them,  we  permit  a  low,  sordid,  selfish,  sectional  spirit  to  take  pos- 
session of  this  House,  this  happy  scene  will  vanish.  We  will  divide  ; 
and,  in  its  consequences,  will  follow  misery  and  despotism." 

With  this-  speech  before  him  and  before  the  country,  Mr.  Cal- 
houn  had  not  the  candor  to  avow,  in  later  years,  a  complete  change 
of  opinion.  He  could  only  go  so  far  as  to  say,  when  opposing  the 
purchase  of  the  Madison  Papers  in  1837,  that,  "at  his  entrance 
upon  public  life,  he  had  inclined  to  that  interpretation  of  the  Con- 
stitution which  favored  a  latitude  of  powers."  Inclined !  He  was 
a  most  enthusiastic  and  thorough-going  champion  of  that  inter- 
pretation. His  scheme  of  internal  improvements  embraced  a  net- 
work of  post-roads  and  canals  from  "  Maine  to  Louisiana,"  and  a 
system  of  harbors  for  lake  and  ocean.  He  kindled,  he  glowed, 
at  the  spectacle  which  his  imagination  conjured  up,  of  the  whole 
country  rendered  accessible,  and  of  the  distant  farmer  selling  his 
produce  at  a  price  not  seriously  less  than  that  which  it  brought 


134  JOHN  C.    CALHOUN. 

on  tin  coast.  On  this  subject  he  became  animated,  interesting, 
almost  eloquent.  And,  so  far  from  this  advocacy  being  confined 
to  the  period  of  his  "  entrance  upon  political  life,"  he  continued 
to  be  its  very  warmest  exponent  as  late  as  1819,  when  he  had 
been  ten  years  in  public  life.  In  that  year,  having  to  report  upon 
the  condition  of  military  roads  and  fortifications,  his  flaming  zeal 
for  a  grand  and  general  system  of  roads  and  canals  frequently 
bursts  the  bounds  of  the  subject  he  had  to  treat.  He  tells  Con- 
gress that  the  internal  improvements  which  are  best  for  peace  are 
best  for  war  also ;  and  expatiates  again  upon  his  dazzling  dream 
of  "  connecting  Louisiana  by  a  durable  and  well-finished  road 
with  Maine,  and  Boston  with  Savannah  by  a  well-established 
line  of  internal  navigation."  The  United  States,  he  said,  with 
its  vast  systems  of  lakes,  rivers,  and  mountains,  its  treble  line 
of  sea-coast,  its  valleys  large  enough  for  empires,  was  "  a  world 
of  itself,"  and  needed  nothing  but  to  be  rendered  accessible. 
From  what  we  know  of  the  way  things  are  managed  in  Congress, 
ire  should  guess  that  he  was  invited  to  make  this  report  for  the 
very  purpose  of  affording  to  the  foremost  champion  of  internal 
improvements  an  opportunity  of  lending  a  helping  hand  to  pend- 
ing bills. 

Mr.  Calhoun  served  six  years  in  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives, and  grew  in  the  esteem  of  Congress  and  the  country  at 
every  session.  As  it  is  pleasing  to  see  an  old  man  at  the  theatre 
entering  into  the  merriment  of  the  play,  since  it  shows  that  his 
heart  has  triumphed  over  the  cares  of  life,  and  he  has  preserved 
a  little  of  his  youth,  so  is  it  eminently  graceful  in  a  young  man 
to  have  something  of  the  seriousness  of  age,  especially  when  his 
conduct  is  even  more  austere  than  his  demeanor.  Mr.  Clay  at 
this  time  was  addicted  to  gaming,  like  most  of  the  Western  and 
Southern  members,  and  he  was  not  averse  to  the  bottle.  Mr. 
Webster  was  reckless  in  expenditure,  fond  of  his  ease,  and  loved 
a  joke  better  than  an  argument.  In  the  seclusion  of  Washington, 
many  members  lived  a  very  gay,  rollicking  life.  Mr.  Calhoun 
never  gambled,  never  drank  to  excess,  never  jested,  never  quar- 
relled, cared  nothing  for  his  ease,  and  tempered  the  gravity  of  his 
demeanor  by  an  admirable  and  winning  courtesy.  A  deep  and 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  135 

serious  ambition  impelled  and  restrained  him.  Like  boys  at 
school,  Clay  and  "Webster  were  eager  enough  to  get  to  the  head 
of  the  class,  but  they  did  not  brood  over  it  all  the  time,  and  never 
feel  comfortable  unless  they  were  conning  their  spelling-book ; 
while  little  Calhoun  expended  all  his  soul  in  the  business,  and 
had  no  time  or  heart  left  for  play.  Consequently  he  advanced 
rapidly  for  one  of  his  size,  and  was  universally  pointed  at  as  the 
model  scholar.  Accidents,  too,  generally  favor  a  rising  man.  Mr. 
Calhoun  made  an  extremely  lucky  hit  in  1815,  which  gave  mem- 
bers the  highest  opinion  of  his  sagacity.  In  opposing  an  ill- 
digested  scheme  for  a  national  bank,  he  told  the  House  that  the 
bill  was  so  obviously  defective  and  unwise,  that,  if  news  of  peace 
should  arrive  that  day,  it  would  not  receive  fifteen  votes.  News 
of  peace,  which  was  totally  unexpected,  did  arrive  that  very 
hour,  and  the  bill  was  rejected  the  next  day  by  about  the  major- 
ity which  he  had  predicted.  At  the  next  session,  he  won  an  im- 
mense reputation  for  firmness.  An  act  was  passed  changing  the 
mode  of  compensating  members  of  Congress  from  six  dollars  a 
day  to  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year.  We  were  a  nation  of  rus- 
tics then ;  and  this  harmless  measure  excited  a  disgust  in  the 
popular  mind  so  intense  and  general,  that  most  of  the  members 
who  had  voted  for  it  declined  to  present  themselves  for  re-elec- 
tion. Calhoun  was  one  of  the  guilty  ones.  Popular  as  he  was 
in  his  district,  supported  by  two  powerful  family  connections,  — 
his  own  and  his  wife's,  —  admired  throughout  the  State  as  one 
who  had  done  honor  to  it  upon  the  conspicuous  scene  of  Congres- 
sional debate,  —  even  he  was  threatened  with  defeat.  Formi- 
dable candidates  presented  themselves.  In  these  circumstances 
he  mounted  the  stump,  boldly  justified  his  vote,  and  defended  the 
odious  bill.  He  was  handsomely  re-elected,  and  when  the  bill 
was  up  for  repeal  in  the  House  he  again  supported  it  with  all  his 
former  energy.  At  the  conclusion  of  his  speech,  a  member  from 
New  York,  Mr.  Grosvenor,  a  political  opponent,  with  whom  Cal- 
houn had  not  been  on  speaking  terms  for  two  years,  sprang  to 
his  feet,  enraptured,  and  began  to  express  his  approval  of  the 
speech  in  ordinary  parliamentary  language.  But  his  feelings 
could  not  be  relieved  in  that  manner.  He  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  said:  — 


136  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

"  Mr.  Speaker,  I  will  not  be  restrained.  No  barrier  shall  exist  \vhich 
I  will  not  leap  over  for  the  purpose  of  offering  to  that  gentleman  my 
thanks  for  the  judicious,  independent,  and  national  course  which  he  haa 
pursued  in  this  House  for  the  last  two  years,  and  particularly  upon  the 
subject  now  before  us.  Let  the  honorable  gentleman  continue  with  the 
same  manly  independence,  aloof  from  party  views  and  local  prejudices, 
to  pursue  the  great  interests  of  his  country,  and  fulfil  the  high  destiny 
for  which  it  is  manifest  he  was  born.  The  buzz  of  popular  applause 
may  not  cheer  him  on  his  way,  but  he  will  inevitably  arrive  at  a  high 
and  happy  elevation  in  the  view  of  his  country  and  the  world." 

Such  scenes  as  this  enhance  the  prestige  of  a  rising  man. 
Members  weak  at  home  envied  at  once  and  admired  a  man  who 
was  strong  enough  to  bring  over  his  constituents  to  his  opinion. 
He  was  fortunate,  too,  in  this,  that  a  triumph  so  striking  occurred 
just  before  he  left  the  House  for  another  sphere  of  public  life. 
He  had  what  the  actors  call  a  splendid  exit. 

The  inauguration  of  Mr.  Monroe  on  the  4th  of  March,  1817, 
ushered  in  the  era  of  good  feeling,  and  gave  to  Henry  Clay  the 
first  of  his  long  series  of  disappointments.  As  Secretaries  of 
State  had  usually  succeeded  their  chiefs  in  the  Presidency,  the 
appointment  of  Mr.  Adams  to  that  office  by  Mr.  Monroe  was  re- 
garded almost  in  the  light  of  a  nomination  to  the  succession.  To 
add  to  Mr.  Clay's  mortification,  he  was  tendered  the  post  of  Sec- 
retary of  War,  which  he  had  declined  a  year  before,  and  now 
again  declined.  The  President  next  selected  General  Jackson, 
then  in  the  undimmed  lustre  of  his  military  renown,  and  still 
holding  his  Major-General's  commission.  He  received,  however 
a  private  notification  that  General  Jackson  would  not  accept  a 
place  in  the  Cabinet.  The  President  then  offered  the  post  to  the 
aged  Governor  Isaac  Shelby  of  Kentucky,  who  had  the  good 
sense  to  decline  it.  There  appear  to  have  been  negotiations  with 
other  individuals,  but  at  length,  in  October,  1817,  the  place  was 
offered  to  Mr.  Calhoun,  who,  after  much  hesitation,  accepted  it, 
and  entered  upon  the  discharge  of  its  duties  in  December.  His 
friends,  we  are  told,  unanimously  disapproved  his  going  into  office, 
as  they  believed  him  formed  to  shine  in  debate  rather  than  in  the 
transaction  of  business. 

Fortune  favored  him  again.     Entering  the  office  after  a  long 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  137 

vacancy,  and  when  it  was  filled  with  the  unfinished  business  of 
the  war,  —  fifty  million  dollars  of  deferred  claims,  for  one  item, 
—  he  had  the  same  easy  opportunity  for  distinction  which  a  stew- 
ard has  who  takes  charge  of  an  estate  just  out  of  chancery,  and 
under  a  new  proprietor  who  has  plenty  of  money.  The  sweep- 
ing up  of  the  dead  leaves,  the  gathering  of  the  fallen  branches,  and 
the  weeding  out  of  the  paths,  changes  the  aspect  of  the  place,  and 
gives  the  passer-by  a  prodigious  idea  of  the  efficiency  of  the  new 
broom.  The  country  was  alive,  too,  to  the  necessity  of  coast  and 
frontier  defences,  and  there  was  much  building  of  forts  during  the 
seven  years  of  Mr.  Calhoun's  tenure  of  place.  Eespecting  the 
manner  in  which  he  discharged  the  multifarious  and  unusual  du- 
ties of  his  office,  we  have  never  heard  anything  but  commenda- 
tion. He  was  prompt,  punctual,  diligent,  courteous,  and  firm. 
The  rules  which  he  drew  up  for  the  regulation  of  the  War  De- 
partment remained  in  force,  little  changed,  until  the  magnitude  of 
the  late  contest  abolished  or  suspended  all  ancient  methods.  The 
claims  of  the  soldiers  were  rapidly  examined  and  passed  upon. 
It  was  Mr.  Calhoun  who  first  endeavored  to  collect  considerable 
bodies  of  troops  for  instruction  at  one  post  He  had  but  six 
thousand  men  in  all,  but  he  contrived  to  get  together  several  com- 
panies of  artillery  at  Fortress  Monroe  for  drill.  He  appeared  to 
take  much  interest  in  the  expenditure  of  the  ten  thousand  dollars 
a  year  which  Congress  voted  for  the  education  of  the  Indians. 
He  reduced  the  expenses  of  his  office,  which  was  a  very  popular 
thing  at  that  day.  He  never  appointed  nor  removed  a  clerk  for 
opinion's  sake.  In  seven  years  he  only  removed  two  clerks, 
both  for  cause,  and  to  both  were  given  in  writing  the  reasons  of 
their  removal.  There  was  no  special  merit  in  this,  for  at  that 
day  to  do  otherwise  would  have  been  deemed  infamous. 

Mr.  Calhoun,  as  a  member  of  Mr.  Monroe's  Cabinet,  still 
played  the  part  of  a  national  man,  and  supported  the  measures 
of  his  party  without  exception.  Scarcely  a  trace  of  the  sectional 
champion  yet  appears.  In  1819,  he  gave  a  written  opinion  favor- 
ing the  cession  of  Texas  in  exchange  for  Florida;  the  motive  of 
which  was  to  avoid  alarming  the'North  by  the  prospective  increase 
of  Slave  States.  In  later  years,  Mr.  Calhoun,  of  course,  wished 


138  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

to  deny  this ;  and  the  written  opinions  of  Mr.  Monroe's  Cabinet 
on  that  question  mysteriously  disappeared  from  the  archives  of 
the  Stale  Department.  We  have  the  positive  testimony  of  Mr. 
John  Quincy  Adams,  that  Calhoun,  in  common  with  most  Southern 
men  of  that  day,  approved  the  Missouri  Compromise  of  1820, 
and  gave  a  written  opinion  that  it  was  a  constitutional  measure. 
That  he  was  still  an  enthusiast  for  internal  improvements,  we  have 
already  mentioned. 

The  real  difficulty  of  the  War  Department,  however,  as  of  the 
State  Department,  during  the  Monroe  administration,  was  a  cer- 
tain Major-General  Andrew  Jackson,  commanding  the  Military 
Department  of  the  South.  The  popularity  of  the  man  who  had 
restored  the  nation's  self-love  by  ending  a  disastrous  war  with  a 
dazzling  and  most  unexpected  victory,  was  something  different 
from  the  respect  which  we  all  now  feel  for  the  generals  distin- 
guished in  the  late  war.  The  first  honors  of  the  late  war  are 
divided  among  four  chieftains,  each  of  whom  contributed  to  the 
final  success  at  least  one  victory  that  was  essential  to  it.  But  in 
1815,  among  the  military  heroes  of  the  war  that  had  just  closed 
General  Jackson  stood  peerless  and  alone.  His  success  in  defend- 
ing the  Southwest,  ending  in  a  blaze  of  glory  below  New  Orleans, 
utterly  eclipsed  all  the  other  achievements  of  the  war,  excepting 
alone  the  darling  triumphs  on  the  ocean  and  the  lakes.  The  defer- 
ential spirit  of  Mr.  Monroe's  letters  to  the  General,  and  the  readi- 
ness of  every  one  everywhere  to  comply  with  his  wishes,  show 
that  his  popularity,  even  then,  constituted  him  a  power  in  the  Re- 
public. It  was  said  in  later  times,  that  "  General  Jackson's  pop- 
ularity could  stand  anything,"  and  in  one  sense  this  was  true :  it 
could  stand  anything  that  General  Jackson  was  likely  to  do. 
Andrew  Jackson  could  never  have  done  a  cowardly  act,  or  be- 
trayed a  friend,  or  knowingly  violated  a  trust,  or  broken  his  word, 
or  forgotten  a  debt.  He  was  always  so  entirely  certain  that  he, 
Andrew  Jackson,  was  in  the  right,  his  conviction  on  this  point  was 
so  free  from  the  least  quaver  of  doubt,  that  he  could  always  con- 
vince other  men  that  he  was  right,  and  carry  the  multitude  with 
him.  His  honesty,  courage,  and  inflexible  resolution,  joined  to 
his  ignorance,  narrowness,  intensity,  and  liability  to  prejudice, 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  139 

rendered  l.im  at  once  the  idol  of  his  countrymen  and  the  plague 
of  all  men  with  whom  he  had  official  connection.  Drop  an  An- 
drew Jackson  from  the  clouds  upon  any  spot  of  earth  inhabited 
by  men,  and  he  will  havo  half  a  dozen  deadly  feuds  upon  hia 
hands  in  thirty  days. 

Mr.  Calhoun  inherited  a  quarrel  with  Jackson  from  George 
Graham,  his  pro  tempore  predecessor  in  the  War  Department 
This  Mr.  Graham  was  the  gentleman  ("  spy,"  Jackson  termed 
him)  despatched  by  President  Jefferson  in  1806  to  the  Western 
country  to  look  into  the  mysterious  proceedings  of  Aaron  Burr, 
which  led  to  the  explosion  of  Burr's  scheme.  This  was  enough 
to  secure  the  bitterest  enmity  of  Jackson,  who  wholly  and  always 
favored  Burr's  design  of  annihilating  the  Spanish  power  in  North 
America,  and  who,  as  President  of  the  United  States,  rewarded 
Burr's  followers,  and  covertly  assisted  Houston  to  carry  out  part 
of  Burr's  project.  Graham  had  sent  orders  to  Jackson's  subor- 
dinates directly,  instead  of  sending  them  through  the  chief  of  the 
Department.  Jackson,  after  due  remonstrance,  ordered  his  offi- 
cers not  to  obey  any  orders  but  such  as  were  communicated  by  or 
through  himself.  This  was  a  high-handed  measure ;  but  Mr. 
Calhoun,  on  coming  into  power,  passed  it  by  without  notice,  and 
conceded  the  substance  of  Jackson's  demand,  —  as  he  ought. 
This  was  so  exquisitely  pleasing  to  General  Jackson,  that  he  was 
well  affected  by  it  for  many  years  towards  Mr.  Calhoun.  Among 
the  younger  public  men  of  that  day,  there  was  no  one  who  stood 
so  high  in  Jackson's  regard  as  the  Secretary  of  War. 

The  Florida  war  followed  in  1818.  When  the  report  of  Gen- 
eral Jackson's  invasion  of  Florida,  and  of  the  execution  of  Ar- 
buthnot  and  Armbrister  reached  Washington,  Mr.  Calhoun  was 
the  only  man  in  the  Cabinet  who  expressed  the  opinion  that 
General  Jackson  had  transcended  his  powers,  and  ought  to  be 
brought  before  a  court  of  inquiry.  This  opinion  he  supported 
with  ardor,  until  it  was  overruled  by  the  President,  who  was 
chiefly  influenced  by  Mr.  Adams,  the  Secretary  of  State.  How 
keenly  General  Jackson  resented  the  course  of  Mr.  Calhoun  on 
this  occasion,  when,  eleven  years  afterwards,  he  discovered  it,  ia 
sufficiently  well  known.  We  believe,  however,  that  the  facts  jus- 


140  JOHN  C.   CAIHOUN. 

tify  Calhoun  and  condemn  Jackson.  Just  before  going  to  the  seat 
of  war,  the  General  wrote  privately  to  the  President,  strongly 
recommending  the  seizure  of*  Florida,  and  added  these  words : 
"  This  can  be  done  without  implicating  the  government.  Let  it 
be  signified  to  me  through  any  channel  (say,  Mr.  J.  Rhea)  that 
the  possession  of  the  Floridas  would  be  desirable  to  the  United 
States,  and  in  sixty  days  it  will  be  accomplished."  General 
Jackson  dwells,  in  his  "  Exposition  "  of  this  matter,  upon  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Calhoun  was  the  first  man  in  Washington  wno  read  this 
letter.  But  he  does  not  say  that  Mr.  Calhoun  was  aware  that 
Mr.  Rhea  had  been  commissioned  to  answer  the  letter,  and  had 
answered  it  in  accordance  with  General  Jackson's  wishes.  And 
if  the  Rhea  correspondence  justified  the  seizure  of  Florida,  it  did 
not  justify  the  execution  of  the  harmless  Scottish  trader  Arbuth- 
not,  who,  so  far  from  "instigating"  the  war,  had  exerted  the 
whole  of  his  influence  to  prevent  it.  It  is  an  honor  to  Mr.  Cal- 
houn to  have  been  the  only  man  in  the  Cabinet  to  call  for  an  in- 
quiry into  proceedings  which  disgraced  the  United  States  and 
came  near  involving  the  country  in  war.  We  have  always  felt 
it  to  be  a  blot  upon  the  memory  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  that  he 
did  not  join  Mr.  Calhoun  in  demanding  the  trial  of  General  Jack- 
son ;  and  we  have  not  been  able  to  attribute  his  conduct  to  any- 
thing but  the  supposed  necessities  of  his  position  as  a  candidate 
for  the  succession. 

Readers  versed  in  political  history  need  not  be  reminded  that 
nearly  every  individual  in  the  Cabinet  of  Mr.  Monroe  had  hopes 
of  succeeding  him.  Mr.  Adams  had,  of  course  ;  for  he  was  the 
premier.  Mr.  Crawford,  of  course;  for  it  had  been  "arranged" 
at  the  last  caucus  that  he  was  to  follow  Mr.  Monroe,  to  whoso 
claims  he  had  deferred  on  that  express  condition.  Henry  Clay, 
the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  and  De  Witt 
Clinton  of  New  York,  had  expectations.  All  these  gentlemen 
had  "  claims  "  which  both  their  party  and  the  public  could  recog- 
nize. Mr.  Calhoun,  too,  who  was  forty-two  years  of  age  in  Mr. 
Monroe's  last  year  of  service,  boldly  entered  the  lists ;  relying 
upon  the  united  support  of  the  South  and  the  support  of  the 
manufacturing  States  of  the  North,  led  by  Pennsylvania.  That 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  141 

against  such  competitors  he  had  any  ground  at  all  to  hope  for 
success,  shows  how  rapid  and  how  real  had  been  his  progress 
toward  a  first-rate  national  position.  If  our  readers  will  turn  to 
the  letters  of  Webster,  Story,  "Wirt,  Adams,  Jackson,  and  others 
of  that  circle  of  distinguished  men,  they  will  see  many  evidences 
of  the  extravagant  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  in  1824. 
They  appear  to  have  all  seen  in  him  the  material  for  a  President, 
though  not  yet  quite  mature  for  the  position.  They  all  deemed 
him  a  man  of  unsullied  honor,  of  devoted  patriotism,  of  perfect 
sincerity,  and  of  immense  ability,  —  so  assiduously  had  he  played 
the  part  of  the  good  boy. 

How  the  great  popularity  of  General  Jackson  was  adroitly 
used  by  two  or  three  invisible  wire-pullers  to  defeat  the  aspira- 
tions of  these  too  eager  candidates,  and  how  from  the  general 
wreck  of  their  hopes  Mr.  Calhoun  had  the  dexterity  to  emerge 
Vice-President  of  the  United  States,  has  been  related  with  the 
amplest  detail,  and  need  not  be  repeated  here.  Mr.  Calhoun's 
position  seemed  then  to  combine  all  the  advantages  which  a  poli- 
tician of  forty-three  could  desire  or  imagine.  By  withdrawing 
his  name  from  the  list  of  candidates  in  such  a  way  as  to  lead 
General  Jackson  to  suppose  that  he  had  done  so  in  his  favor,  he 
seemed  to  place  the  General  under  obligations  to  him.  By 
.secretly  manifesting  a  preference  for  Mr.  Adams  (which  he 
Veally  felt)  when  the  election  devolved  upon  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, he  had  gained  friends  among  the  adherents  of  the  suc- 
cessful candidate.  His  withdrawal  was  accepted  by  the  public  as 
an  evidence  of  modesty  becoming  the  youngest  candidate.  Fi- 
nally he  was  actually  Vice-President,  as  John  Adams  had  been, 
as  Jefferson  had  been,  before  their  elevation  to  the  highest  place. 
True,  Henry  Clay,  as  Secretary  of  State,  was  in  the  established 
line  of  succession ;  but,  as  time  wore  on,  it  became  very  manifest 
that  the  re-election  of  Mr.  Adams,  upon  which  Mr.  Clay's  hopes 
depended,  was  itself  exceedingly  doubtful ;  and  we  accordingly 
find  Mr.  Calhoun  numbered  in  the  ranks  of  the  opposition.  Tow- 
ard the  close  of  Mr.  Adams's  Presidency,  the  question  of  real 
interest  in  the  inner  circle  of  politicians  was,  not  who  should  suc- 
ceed John  Quincy  Adams  in  1829,  but  who  should  succeed 


142  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

Andrew  Jackson  in  1833 ;  and  already  the  choice  was  narrow- 
ing to  two  men,  —  Martin  Van  Buren  and  John  C.  Calhoun. 

During  Mr.  Calhoun's  first  term  in  the  Vice-Presidency,  — 
1825  to  1829,  —  a  most  important  change  took  place  in  his  polit- 
ical position,  which  controlled  all  his  future  career.  While  he 
was  Secretary  of  War,  — 1817  to  1824,  —  he  resided  with  his 
family  in  Washington,  and  shared  in  the  nationalizing  influences 
of  the  place.  When  he  was  elected  Vice-President,  he  removed 
to  a  plantation  called  Fort  Hill,  in  the  western  part  of  South 
Carolina,  where  he  was  once  more  subjected  to  the  intense  and 
narrow  provincialism  of  the  planting  States.  And  there  was 
nothing  in  the  character  or  in  the  acquirements  of  his  mind  to 
counteract  that  influence.  Mr.  Calhoun  was  not  a  student ;  he 
probed  nothing  to  the  bottom  ;  his  information  on  all  subjects 
was  small  in  quantity,  and  second-hand  in  quality.  Nor  was  he 
a  patient  thinker.  Any  stray  fact  or  notion  that  he  met  with  in 
his  hasty  desultory  reading,  which  chanced  to  give  apparent  sup- 
port to  a  favorite  theory  or  paradox  of  his  own,  he  seized  upon 
eagerly,  paraded  it  in  triumph,  but  pondered  it  little  ;  ^vhile  the 
weightiest  facts  which  controverted  his  opinion  he  brushed  aside 
without  the  slightest  consideration.  His  mind  was  as  arrogant 
as  his  manners  were  courteous.  Every  one  who  ever  conversed 
with  him  must  remember  his  positive,  peremptory,  unanswerable 
" Not  at  all,  not  at  all"  whenever  one  of  his  favorite  positions  was 
assailed.  He  was  wholly  a  special  pleader ;  he  never  summed 
up  the  testimony.  We  find  in  his  works  no  evidence  that 
he  had  read  the  masters  in  political  economy ;  not  even  Adam 
Smith,  whose  reputation  was  at  its  height  during  the  first  half  of 
his  public  life.  In  history  he  was  the  merest  smatterer,  though 
it  was  his  favorite  reading,  and  he  was  always  talking  about 
Sparta,  Athens,  and  Rome.  The  slenderness  of  his  fortune  pre- 
vented his  travelling.  He  never  saw  Europe ;  and  if  he  ever 
visited  the  Northern  States,  after  leaving  college,  his  stay  was 
short.  The  little  that  he  knew  of  life  was  gathered  in  three 
places,  all  of  which  were  of  an  exceptional  and  arlificial  charac- 
ter, —  the  city  of  Washington,  the  up-country  of  South  Carolina, 
and  the  luxurious,  reactionary  city  of  Charleston.  His  mind} 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  143 

naturally  narrow  and  intense,  became,  by  revolving  always  in 
this  narrow  sphere  and  breathing  a  close  and  tainted  atmosphere, 
more  and  more  fixed  in  its  narrowness  and  more  intense  in  its 
operations. 

This  man,  moreover,  was  consumed  by  a  poor  ambition :  he 
lusted  after  the  Presidency.  The  rapidity  of  his  progress  in 
public  life,  the  high  offices  he  had  held,  the  extravagant  eulo- 
giums  he  had  received  from  colleagues  and  the  press,  deceived 
him  as  to  the  real  nature  of  his  position  before  the  country,  and 
blinded  him  to  the  superior  chances  of  other  men.  Five  times  in 
his  life  he  made  a  distinct  clutch  at  the  bawble,  but  never  with 
such  prospect  of  success  that  any  man  could  discern  it  but  him- 
self and  those  who  used  his  eyes.  It  is  a  satisfaction  to  know 
that,  of  the  Presidency  seekers,  —  Clay,  Webster,  Calhoun, 
Douglas,  Wise,  Breckenridge,  Tyler,  Fillmore,  Clinton,  Burr, 
Cass,  Buchanan,  and  Van  Buren,  —  only  two  won  the  prize,  and 
those  two  only  by  a  series  of  accidents  which  had  little  to  do  with 
their  own  exertions.  We  can  almost  lay  it  down  as  a  law  of  this 
Republic,  that  no  jnan  who  makes  the  Presidency  the  principal 
object  of  his  public  life  will  ever  be  President.  The  Presidency 
is  an  accident,  and  such  it  will  probably  remain. 

Mr.  Vice-President  Calhoun  found  his  Carolina  discontented 
in  1824,  when  he  took  up  his  abode  at  Fort  Hill.  Since  the 
Revolution,  South  Carolina  had  never  been  satisfied,  and  had 
never  had  reason  to  be.  The  cotton-gin  had  appeased  her  for  a 
while,  but  had  not  suspended  the  operation  of  the  causes  which 
produced  the  stagnation  of  the  South.  Profuse  expenditure,  un- 
skilful agriculture,  the  costliest  system  of  labor  in  the  world,  and 
no  immigration,  still  kept  Irelandizing  the  Southern  States  ; 
while  the  North  was  advancing  and  improving  to  such  a  degree 
as  to  attract  emigrants  from  all  lands.  The  contrast  was  painful 
to  Southern  men,  and  to  most  of  them  it  was  mysterious.  South- 
ern politicians  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  cause  at  once  of 
Northern  prosperity  and  Southern  poverty  was  the  protective 
tariff  and  the  appropriations  for  internal  improvements,  but 
chiefly  the  tariff.  In  1824,  when  Mr.  Calhoun  went  home,  the 
tariff  on  some  leading  articles  had  been  increased,  and  the  South 


144  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

was  in  a  ferment  of  opposition  to  the  protective  system.  If  Mr. 
Calhoun  had  been  a  wise  and  honest  man,  he  would  have  re- 
minded his  friends  that  the  decline  of  the  South  had  been  a  sub- 
ject of  remark  from  the  peace  of  1783,  and  therefore  could  not 
have  been  caused  by  the  tariff  of  1816,  or  1820,  or  1824.  He 
would  have  told  them  that  slavery,  as  known  in  the  Southern 
States,  demands  virgin  lands,  —  must  have,  every  few  years,  its 
cotton-gin,  its  Louisiana,  its  Cherokee  country,  its  something,  to 
give  new  value  to  its  products  or  new  scope  for  its  operations.  He 
might  have  added  that  the  tariff  of  1824  was  a  grievance,  did  tend 
to  give  premature  development  to  a  manufacturing  system,  and 
was  a  fair  ground  for  a  national  issue  between  parties.  The  thing 
which  he  did  was  this :  he  adopted  the  view  of  the  matter  which 
was  predominant  in  the  extreme  South,  and  accepted  the  leader- 
ship of  the  extreme  Southern,  anti-tariff,  strict-constructionist  wing 
of  the  Democratic  party.  He  echoed  the  prevailing  opinion,  that 
the  tariff  and  the  internal  improvement  system,  to  both  of  which 
he  was  fully  committed,  were  the  sole  causes  of  Southern  stagna- 
tion ;  since  by  the  one  their  money  was  taken^from  them,  and  by 
the  other  it  was  mostly  spent  where  it  did  them  no  good. 

He  was,  of  course,  soon  involved  in  a  snarl  of  contradictions, 
from  which  he  never  could  disentangle  himself.  Let  us  pass  to 
the  year  1828,  a  most  important  one  in  the  history  of  the  country 
and  of  Mr.  Calhoun  ;  for  then  occurred  the  first  of  the  long  series 
of  events  which  terminated  with  the  surrender  of  the  last  Rebel 
army  in  1865.  The  first  act  directly  tending  to  a  war  between 
the  South  and  the  United  States  bears  date  December  6,  1828  ; 
and  it  was  the  act  of  John  C.  Calhoun. 

It  was  the  year  of  that  Presidential  election  which  placed  An- 
drew Jackson  in  the  White  House,  and  re-elected  Mr.  Calhoun  to 
the  Vice-Presidency.  It  was  the  year  that  terminated  the  hon- 
orable part  of  Mr.  Calhoun's  career  and  began  the  dishonorable. 
His  political  position  in  the  canvass  was  utterly  false,  as  he  him- 
self afterwards  confessed.  On  the  one  hand,  he  was  supporting 
for  the  Presidency  a  man  committed  to  the  policy  of  protection  ; 
and  on  the  other,  he  became  the  organ  and  mouthpiece  of  the 
Southern  party,  whose  opposition  to  the  protective  principle  wa» 


JOHN  C.   CALHODN.  14o 

tending  to  the  point  of  armed  resistance  to  it.  The  tariff  bill  of 
1828,  which  they  termed  the  bill  of  abominations,  had  excited 
the  most  heated  opposition  in  the  cotton  States,  and  especially  in 
South  Carolina.  This  act  was  passed  in  the  spring  of  the  very 
year  in  which  those  States  voted  for  a  man  who  had  publicly  in- 
dorsed the  principle  involved  in  it  ;  and  we  see  Mr.  Calhoun 
heading  the  party  who  were  electioneering  for  Jackson,  and  the 
party  who  were  considering  the  policy  of  nullifying  the  act  which 
he  had  approved.  His  Presidential  aspirations  bound  him  to  the 
support  of  General  Jackson ;  but  the  first,  the  fundamental  ne- 
cessity of  his  position  was  to  hold  possession  of  South  Carolina. 

The  burden  of  Mr.  Calhoun's  later  speeches  was  the  reconcili- 
ation of  the  last  part  of  his  public  life  with  the  first.  The  task 
was  difficult,  for  there  is  not  a  leading  proposition  in  his  speeches 
after  1830  which  is  not  refuted  by  arguments  to  be  found  in  his 
public  utterances  before  1828.  In  his  speech  on  the  Force  Bill, 
in  1834,  he  volunteered  an  explanation  of  the  apparent  inconsist- 
ency between  his  support  of  General  Jackson  in  1828,  and  his 
authorship  of  the  "  South  Carolina  Exposition  "  in  the  same  year. 
Falsehood  and  truth  are  strangely  interwoven  in  almost  every 
sentence  of  his  later  writings ;  and  there  is  also  that  vagueness 
in  them  which  comes  of  a  superfluity  of  words.  He  says,  that 
for  the  strict-constructionist  party  to  have  presented  a  candidate 
openly  and  fully  identified  with  their  opinions  would  have  been  to 
court  defeat ;  and  thus  they  were  obliged  either  to  abandon  the 
contest,  or  to  select  a  candidate  "  whose  opinions  were  interme- 
diate or  doubtful  on  the  subject  which  divided  the  two  sections," 
—  a  candidate  "  who,  at  best,  was  but  a  choice  of  evils."  Be- 
sides, General  Jackson  was  a  Southern  man,  and  it  was  hoped 
that,  notwithstanding  his  want  of  experience,  knowledge,  and  self 
control,  the  advisers  whom  he  would  invite  to  assist  him  would 
compensate  for  those  defects.  Then  Mr.  Calhoun  proceeds  to 
*tate,  that  the  contest  turned  chiefly  upon  the  question  of  protec- 
tion or  free  trade ;  and  the  strife  was,  which  of  the  two  parties 
should  go  farthest  in  the  advocacy  of  protection.  The  result  was, 
he  says,  that  the  tariff  bill  of  1828  was  passed,  —  "  that  disas- 
trous measure  which  has  brought  so  many  calamities  upon  us, 
7  f 


146  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

and  put  in  peril  the  liberty  and  union  of  the  country,"  and 
"  poured  millions  into  the  treasury  beyond  the  most  extravagant 
wants  of  the  country." 

The  passage  of  this  tariff  bill  was  accomplished  by  the  tact  of 
Martin  Van  Buren,  aided  by  Major  Eaton,  Senator  from  Tennes- 
see. Mr.  Van  Buren  was  the  predestined  chief  of  General  Jack- 
eon's  Cabinet,  and  Major  Eaton  was  the  confidant,  agent,  and 
travelling  manager  of  the  Jacksonian  wire-pullers,  besides  being 
the  General's  own  intimate  friend.  The  events  of  that  session 
notified  -Mr.  Calhoun  that,  however  manageable  General  Jackson 
might  be,  he  was  not  likely  to  fall  into  the  custody  of  the  Vice- 
President.  General  Jackson's  election  being  considered  certain, 
the  question  was  alone  interesting,  who  should  possess  him  for 
the  purposes  of  the  succession.  The  prospect,  as  surveyed  that 
winter  from  the  Vice-President's  chair,  was  not  assuring  to  the 
occupant  of  that  lofty  seat.  If  General  Jackson  could  not  be 
used  as  a  fulcrum  for  the  further  elevation  of  Mr.  Calhoun,  would 
it  not  be  advisable  to  begin  to  cast  about  for  another  ? 

The  tariff  bill  of  1828  was  passed  before  the  Presidential  can- 
vass had  set  in  with  its  last  severity.  There  was  time  for  Mr. 
Calhoun  to  withdraw  from  the  support  of  the  man  whose  nearest 
friends  had  carried  it  through  the  Senate  under  his  eyes.  He 
did  not  do  so.  He  went  home,  after  the  adjournment  of  Con- 
gress, to  labor  with  all  his  might  for  the  election  of  a  protection- 
ist, and  to  employ  his  leisure  hours  in  the  composition  of  that 
once  famous  paper  called  the  "  South  Carolina  Exposition,"  in 
which  protection  was  declared  to  be  an  evil  so  intolerable  as  to 
justify  the  nullification  of  an  act  founded  upon  it.  This  Exposi- 
tion was  the  beginning  of  our  woe,  —  the  baleful  egg  from  which 
were  hatched  nullification,  treason,  civil  war,  and  the  desolation 
of  the  Southern  States.  Here  is  Mr.  Calhoun's  own  account  of 
the  manner  in  which  what  he  correctly  styles  "  the  double  opera- 
tion "  was  "  pushed  on  "  in  the  summer  of  1828  :  — 

"  This  disastrous  event  [the  passage  of  the  tariff  bill  of  1828]  opened 
our  eyes  (I  mean  myself  and  those  immediately  connected  with  me) 
as  to  the  full  extent  of  the  danger  and  oppression  of  the  protective 
system,  and  the  hazard  of  failing  to  effect  the  reform  ir  tended  througt 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN.  147 

the  election  of  General  Jackson.  With  these  disclosures,  it  became 
necessary  to  seek  some  other  ultimate,  but  more  certain  measure  of 
protection.  We  turned  to  the  Constitution  to  find  this  remedy.  We 
directed  a  more  diligent  and  careful  scrutiny  into  its  provisions,  in  or- 
der to  understand  fully  the  nature  and  character  of  our  political  sys- 
tem. We  found  a  certain  and  effectual  remedy  in  that  great  funda- 
mental division  of  the  powers  of  the  system  between  this  government 
and  its  independent  co-ordinates,  the  separate  governments  of  the 
States,  —  to  be  called  into  action  to  arrest  the  unconstitutional  acts  of 
this  government  by  the  interposition  of  the  States,  —  the  paramount 
source  from  which  both  governments  derive  their  power.  But  in  re- 
lying on  this  our  ultimate  remedy,  we  did  not  abate  our  zeal  in  the 
Presidential  canvass  ;  we  still  hoped  that  General  Jackson,  if  elect- 
ed, would  effect  the  necessary  reform,  and  thereby  supersede  the  ne- 
cessity for  calling  into  action  the  sovereign  authority  of  the  State, 
which  we  were  anxious  to  avoid.  With  these  views  the  two  were 
pushed  with  equal  zeal  at  the  same  time  ;  which  double  operation 
commenced  in  the  fall  of  1828,  but  a  few  months  after  the  passage  of 
the  tariff  act  of  that  year  ;  and  at  the  meeting  of  the  Legislature  of 
the  State,  at  the  same  period,  a  paper  known  as  the  South  Carolina 
Exposition  was  reported  to  that  body,  containing  a  full  development,  as 
well  on  the  constitutional  point  as  on  the  operation  of  the  protective 
system,  preparatory  to  a  state  of  things  which  might  eventually  rendei 
the  action  of  the  State  necessary  in  order  to  protect  her  rights  and  in- 
terest, and  to  stay  a  course  of  policy  which  we  believed  would,  if  not 
arrested,  prove  destructive  of  liberty  and  the  Constitution." —  Works, 
II.  396. 

Mr.  Calhoun  omits,  however,  to  mention  that  the  Exposition 
was  not  presented  to  the  Legislature  of  South  Carolina  until 
after  the  Presidential  election  had  been  decided.  Nor  did  he 
Inform  his  hearers  that  the  author  of  the  paper  was  Mr.  Vice- 
President  Calhoun.  Either  there  was  a  great  dearth  of  literary 
ability  in  that  body,  or  else  Mr.  Calhoun  had  little  confidence  in 
it ;  for  nearly  all  the  ponderous  documents  on  nullification  given 
to  the  world  in  its  name  were  penned  by  Mr.  Calhoun,  and  ap- 
pear in  his  collected  works.  If  the  Legislature  addressed  its 
constituents  or  the  people  of  the  United  States  on  this  subject,  it 
was  he  who  prepared  the  draft.  The  South  Carolina  Exposition 
was  found  among  his  paper?  in  his  own  handwriting,  and  it  was 


148  JOHN   C.   CALHOTTN. 

adopted  by  the  Legislature  with  only  a  few  alterations  and  sup 
pressions.  There  never  was  a  piece  of  mischief  more  completely 
the  work  of  one  man  than  the  nullification  troubles  of  1833  - 
34. 

The  South  Carolina  Exposition,  when  Mr.  Calhoun  had  com- 
pleted it,  was  brought  before  the  public  by  one  of  the  usual 
methods.  The  Legislature  of  South  Carolina  passed  the  follow- 
ing resolutions :  — 

"  Resolved,  That  it  is  expedient  to  protest  against  the  unconstitu- 
tional and  oppressive  operation  of  the  system  of  protective  duties,  and 
to  have  such  protest  entered  on  the  journals  of  the  Senate  of  the  Unit- 
ed States.  Also,  to  make  a  public  exposition  of  our  wrongs,  and  of 
the  remedies  within  our  power,  to  be  communicated  to  our  sister 
States,  with  a  request  that  they  will  co-operate  with  this  State  in  pro- 
curing a  repeal  of  the  tariff  for  protection,  and  an  abandonment  of  the 
principle ;  and  if  the  repeal  be  not  procured,  that  they  will  co-operate 
in  such  measures  as  may  be  necessary  for  averting  the  evil. 

"  Resolved,  That  a  committee  of  seven  be  raised  to  carry  the  fore- 
going resolution  into  effect." 

The  resolution  having  been  carried,  the  following  gentlemen 
were  appointed  to  father  Mr.  Calhoun's  paper :  James  Gregg,  D. 
L.  Wardlaw,  Hugh  S.  Legare",  Arthur  P.  Hayne,  William  C. 
Preston,  William  Elliott,  and  K.  Barnwell  Smith.  The  duty  of 
this  committee  consisted  in  causing  a  copy  of  Mr.  Calhoun's  pa- 
per to  be  made  and  presenting  it  to  the  Legislature.  This  was 
promptly  done ;  and  the  Exposition  was  adopted  by  the  Legisla- 
ture on  the  6th  of  December,  1828.  Whether  any  protest  was 
forwarded  to  the  Secretary  of  the  United  States  Senate  for  in- 
sertion in  the  journal  does  not  appear.  We  only  know  that  five 
thousand  copies  of  this  wearisome  and  stupid  Exposition  were 
ordered  to  be  printed,  and  that  in  the  hubbub  of  the  incoming  of 
a  new  administration  it  attracted  scarcely  any  attention  beyond 
the  little  knot  of  original  nullifiers.  Indeed,  Mr.  Calhoun's  writ- 
ings on  this  subject  were  "  protected  "  by  their  own  length  and 
dulness.  No  creature  ever  read  one  of  them  quite  through,  ex- 
cept for  a  special  purpose. 

The  leading  assertions  of  this  Exposition  are  these  :  —  1.  Ev« 


JOHN   0.   CALHOUN  149 

eiy  duty  imposed  for  protection  is  a  violation  of  the  Constitution, 
which  empowers  Congress  to  impose  taxes  for  revenue  only.  2. 
The  whole  burden  of  the  protective  system  is  borne  by  agricul- 
ture and  commerce.  3.  The  whole  of  the  advantages  of  protec- 
tion accrue  to  the  manufacturing  States.  4.  In  other  words,  the 
South,  the  Southwest,  and  two  or  three  commercial  cities,  support 
the  government,  and  pour  a  stream  of  treasure  into  the  coffers  of 
manufacturers.  5.  The  result  must  soon  be,  that  the  people  of 
South  Carolina  will  have  either  to  abandon  the  culture  of  rice 
and  cotton,  and  remove  to  some  other  country,  or  else  to  become 
a  manufacturing  community,  which  would  only  be  ruin  in  another 
form. 

Lest  the  reader  should  find  it  impossible  to  believe  that  any 
man  out  of  a  lunatic  asylum  could  publish  such  propositions  as 
this  last,  we  will  give  the  passage.  Mr.  Calhoun  is  endeavoring 
to  show  that  Europe  will  at  length  retaliate  by  placing  high  duties 
upon  American  cotton  and  rice.  At  least  that  appears  to  be  what 
he  is  aiming  at. 

"  We  already  see  indications  of  a  commercial  warfare,  the  termina- 
tion of  which  no  one  can  conjecture,  though  our  fate  may  easily  be. 
The  last  remains  of  our  great  and  once  flourishing  agriculture  must  be 
annihilated  in  the  conflict.  In  the  first  instance  we  will  *  be  thrown  on 
the  home  market,  which  cannot  consume  a  fourth  of  our  products ;  and, 
instead  of  supplying  the  world,  as  we  would  with  free  trade,  we  would 
be  compelled  to  abandon  the  cultivation  of  three  fourths  of  what  we 
now  raise,  and  receive  for  the  residue  whatever  the  manufacturers,  who 
would  then  have  their  policy  consummated  by  the  entire  possession  of 
our  market,  might  choose  to  give.  Forced  to  abandon  our  ancient  and 
favorite  pursuit,  to  which  our  soil,  climate,  habits,  and  peculiar  labor 
are  adapted,  at  an  immense  sacrifice  of  property,  we  would  be  com- 
pelled, without  capital,  experience,  or  skill,  and  with  a  population  un- 
tried in  such  pursuits,  to  attempt  to  become  the  rivals,  instead  of  the 
customers,  of  the  manufacturing  States.  The  result  is  not  doubtful. 
If  they,  by  superior  capital  and  skill,  should  keep  down  successful  com- 
petition on  our  part,  we  would  be  doomed  to  toil  at  our  unprofitable 
agriculture,  —  selling  at  the  prices  which  a  single  and  very  limited 

•  Mr.  Calhoun  had  still  Irish  enough  in 'his  composition  to  use  •'  will'    fof 
shall.' 


150  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

market  might  give.  But,  on  the  contrary,  if  our  necessity  should  tri- 
umph over  their  capital  and  skill,  if,  instead  of  raw  cotton  we  should 
ship  to  the  manufacturing  States  cotton  yarn  and  cotton  goods,  the 
thoughtful  must  see  that  it  would  inevitably  bring  about  a  state  of 
things  which  could  not  long  continue.  Those  who  now  make  war  on 
our  gains  would  then  make  it  on  our  labor.  They  would  not  tolerate 
that  those  who  now  cultivate  our  plantations,  and  furnish  them  with 
the  material  and  the  market  for  the  product  of  their  arts,  should,  liy 
becoming  their  rivals,  take  bread  from  the  mouths  of  their  wives  anil 
children.  The  committee  will  not  pursue  this  painful  subject ;  but  as 
they  clearly  see  that  the  system  if  not  arrested,  must  bring  the  coun- 
try to  this  hazardous  extremity,  neither  prudence  nor  patriotism  would 
permit  them  to  pass  it  by  without  raising  a  warning  voice  against  an 
evil  of  so  menacing  a  character."  —  Works,  VI.  1 2. 

The  only  question  which  arises  in  the  mind  of  present  readers 
of  such  passages  (which  abound  in  the  writings  of  Mr.  Calhoun) 
is  this :  Were  they  the  chimeras  of  a  morbid,  or  the  utterances 
of  a  false  mind  ?  Those  who  knew  him  differ  in  opinion  on  this 
point.  For  our  part,  we  believe  such  passages  to  have  been  in- 
serted for  the  sole  purpose  of  alarming  the  people  of  South  Car 
olina,  so  as  to  render  them  the  more  subservient  to  his  will.  It 
is  the  stale  trick  of  the  demagogue,  as  well  as  of  the  false  priest, 
10  subjugate  the  mind  by  terrifying  it. 

Mr.  Calhoun  concludes  his  Exposition  by  bringing  forward  his 
remedy  for  the  frightful  evils  which  he  had  conjured  up.  That 
remedy,  of  course,  was  nullification.  The  State  of  South  Caro- 
lina, after  giving  due  warning,  must  declare  the  protective  acts 
"  null  and  void  "  in  the  State  of  South  Carolina  after  a  certain 
date ;  and  then,  unless  Congress  repealed  them  in  time,  refuse 
obedience  to  them.  Whether  this  should  be  done  by  the  Legisla- 
ture or  by  a  convention  called  for  the  purpose,  Mr.  Calhoun  would 
not  say ;  but  he  evidently  preferred  a  convention.  He  advised, 
however,  that  nothing  be  done  hastily ;  that  time  should  be  af- 
forded to  the  dominant  majority  for  further  reflection.  Delay,  he 
remarked,  was  the  more  to  be  recommended,  because  of  "the 
great  political  revolution  which  will  displace  from  power,  on  the 
4th  of  March  next,  those  who  have  acquired  authority  by  setting 
the  will  of  the  people  at  defiance,  and  which  will  bring  in  an  em« 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  151 

inent  citizen,  distinguished  for  his  services  to  his  country  and  his 
justice  and  patriotism  " ;  under  whom,  it  was  hoped,  there  would 
be  "  a  complete  restoration  of  the  pure  principles  of  our  govern- 
ment." This  passage  Mr.  Calhoun  could  write  after  witnessing 
the  manoeuvres  of  Mr.  Van  Buren  and  Mr.  Eaton  !  If  the 
friends  of  Mr.  Adams  had  set  the  will  of  the  people  at  defiance 
on  the  tariff  question,  what  had  the  supporters  of  General  Jack- 
son done  ?  In  truth,  this  menace  of  nullification  was  the  second 
string  to  the  bow  of  the  Vice-President.  It  was  not  yet  ascer- 
tained which  was  going  to  possess  and  use  General  Jackson,  — 
the  placid  and  flexible  Van  Buren,  or  the  headstrong,  short- 
sighted, and  uncomfortable  Calhoun.  Nullification,  as  he  used 
daily  to  declare,  was  a  "  reserved  power." 

At  the  time  of  General  Jackson's  inauguration,  it  would  have 
puzzled  an  acute  politician  to  decide  which  of  the  two  aspirants 
had  the  best  chance  of  succeeding  the  General.  The  President 
seemed  equally  well  affected  toward  both.  One  was  Secretary 
of  State,  the  other  Vice-President.  Van  Buren,  inheriting  the 
political  tactics  of  Burr,  was  lord  paramount  in  the  great  State 
of  New  York,  and  Calhoun  was  all-powerful  in  his  own  State 
and  very  influential  in  all  the  region  of  cotton  and  rice.  In  the 
Cabinet  Calhoun  had  two  friends,  and  one  tried  and  devoted  ally 
(Ingham),  while  Van  Buren  could  only  hoast  of  Major  Eaton, 
Secretary  of  War;  and  the  tie  that  bound  them  together  was 
political  far  more  than  personal.  In  the  public  mind,  Calhoun 
towered  above  his  rival,  for  he  had  been  longer  in  the  national 
councils,  had  held  offices  that  drew  upon  him  the  attention  of 
the  whole  country,  and  had  formerly  been  distinguished  as  an 
orator.  If  any  one  had  been  rash  enough  in  1829  to  intimate  to 
Mr.  Calhoun  that  Martin  Van  Buren  stood  before  the  country  on 
a  par  with  himself,  he  would  have  pitied  the  ignorance  of  that 
rash  man. 

Under  despotic  governments,  like  those  of  Louis  XIV.  and 
Andrew  Jackson,  no  calculation  can  be  made  as  to  the  future  of 
any  public  man,  because  his  future  depends  upon  the  caprice 
of  the  despot,  which  cannot  be  foretold.  Six  short  weeks  — 
nay,  not  so  muct,  not  six  —  sufficed  to  estrange  the  mind  of  the 


152  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

President  from  Calhoun,  and  implant  within  him  a  passion  to 
promote  the  interests  of  Van  Buren.  Our  readers,  we  presume, 
all  know  how  this  was  brought  to  pass.  It  was  simply  that  Mr. 
Calhoun  would  not,  and  Mr.  Van  Buren  would,  call  upon  Mrs. 
Eaton.  All  the  other  influences  that  were  brought  to  bear  upon 
the  President's  singular  mind  were  nothing  in  comparison  with 
this.  Daniel  Webster  uttered  only  the  truth  when  he  wrote,  at 
the  time,  tc  his  friend  Dutton,  that  the  "  Aaron's  serpent  among 
the  President's  desires  was  a  settled  purpose  of  making  out  the 
lady,  of  whom  so  much  has  been  said,  a  person  of  reputation  " ; 
and  that  this  ridiculous  affair  would  "probably  determine  who 
should  be  the  successor  to  the  present  chief  magistrate."  It  had 
precisely  that  effect.  We  have  shown  elsewhere  the  successive 
manoeuvres  by  which  this  was  effected,  and  how  vigorously  but 
unskilfully  Calhoun  struggled  to  avert  his  fate.  We  cannot  and 
need  not  repeat  the  story ;  nor  can  we  go  over  again  the  history 
of  the  Nullification  imbroglio,  which  began  with  the  South  Caro- 
lina Exposition  in  1828,  and  ended  very  soon  after  Calhoun  had 
received  a  private  notification  that  the  instant  news  reached 
Washington  of  an  overt  act  of  treason  in  South  Carolina,  the 
author  and  fomenter  of  that  treason  would  be  arrested  and  held 
for  trial  as  a  traitor. 

One  fact  alone  suffices  to  prove  that,  in  bringing  on  the  Nulli- 
fication troubles,  Calhoun's  motive  was  factious.  When  General 
Jackson  saw  the  coming  storm,  he  did  two  things.  First,  he 
prepared  to  maintain  the  authority  of  the  United  States  by  force. 
Secondly,  he  used  all  his  influence  with  Congress  to  have  the 
cause  of  Southern  discontent  removed.  General  Jackson  felt 
that  the  argument  of  the  anti-tariff  men,  in  view  of  the  speedy 
extinction  of  the  national  debt,  was  unanswerable.  He  belieyed  it 
was  absurd  to  go  on  raising  ten  or  twelve  millions  a  year  more  than 
the  government  could  spend,  merely  for  the  sake  of  protecting 
Northern  manufactures.  Accordingly,  a  bill  was  introduced  which 
aimed  to  do  just  what  the  nullifiers  had  been  clamoring  for,  that 
is,  to  reduce  the  revenue  to  the  amount  required  by  the  govern- 
ment. If  Mr.  Calhoun  had  supported  this  measure,  he  could 
have  earned  it.  He  gave  it  no  support;  but  exerted  all  hia 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  153 

influence  in  favor  of  the  Clay  Compromise,  which  was  expressly 
intended  to  save  as  much  of  the  protective  system  as  could  be 
saved,  and  which  reduced  duties  gradually,  instead  of  suddenly. 
Rather  than  permit  the  abhorred  administration  to  have  the 
glory  of  pacificating  the  country,  this  lofty  Roman  stooped  to  a 
coalition  with  his  personal  enemy,  Henry  Clay,  the  champion 
and  the  soul  of  the  protectionist  party. 

No  words  can  depict  the  bitterness  of  Calhoun's  disappoint- 
ment and  mortification  at  being  distanced  by  a  man  whom  he 
despised  so  cordially  as  he  did  Van  Buren.  To  comprehend  it, 
his  whole  subsequent  career  must  be  studied.  The  numerous 
covert  allusions  to  the  subject  in  his  speeches  and  writings  are 
surcharged  with  rancor ;  and  it  was  observed  that,  whenever  his 
mind  reverted  to  it,  his  manner,  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  every 
gesture  testified  to  the  intensity  of  his  feelings.  "  Every  South- 
ern man,"  said  he  on  one  occasion,  "  who  is  true  to  the  interests 
of  his  section,  and  faithful  to  the  duties  which  Providence  has 
allotted  him,  will  be  forever  excluded  from  the  honors  and 
emoluments  of  this  government,  which  will  be  reserved  only  for 
those  who  have  qualified  themselves  by  political  prostitution  for 
admission  into  the  Magdalen  Asylum."  His  face,  too,  from  this 
time,  assumed  that  haggard,  cast-iron,  intense,  introverted  aspect 
which  struck  every  beholder. 

Miss  Martineau,  in  her  Retrospect  of  Western  Travel,  has 
given  us  some  striking  and  valuable  glimpses  of  the  eminent 
men  of  that  period,  particularly  of  the  three  most  eminent,  who 
frequently  visited  her  during  her  stay  in  Washington.  This 
passage,  for  example,  is  highly  interesting. 

"  Mr.  Clay  sitting  upright  on  the  sofa,  with  his  snuffbox  ever  in  his 
hand,  would  discourse  for  many  an  hour  in  his  even,  soft,  deliberate 
tone,  on  any  one  of  the  great  subjects  of  American  policy  which  we 
might  happen  to  start,  always  amazing  us  with  the  moderation  of  esti- 
mate and  speech  which  so  impetuous  a  nature  has  been  able  to  attain. 
Mr.  Webster,  leaning  back  at  his  ease,  telling  stories,  cracking  jokes, 
shaking  the  sofa  with  burst  after  burst  of  laughter,  or  smoothly  dis- 
coursing to  the  perfect  felicity  of  the  logical  part  of  one's  constitution, 
would  illuminate  an  evening  now  and  then.  Mr.  Calhoun,  the  cast- 
iron  man,  who  looks  as  if  he  had  never  been  born  and  could  never  be 
7» 


154  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

extinguished,  would  come  in  sometimes  to  keep  our  understandings  on 
a  painful  stretch  for  a  short  while,  and  leave  us  to  take  to  pieces  his 
close,  rapid,  theoretical,  illustrated  talk,  and  see  what  we  could  make 
of  it.  We  found  it  usually  more  worth  retaining  as  a  curiosity,  than 
as  either  very  just  or  useful.  His  speech  abounds  in  figures,  truly  illus- 
trative, if  that  which  they  illustrate  were  true  also.  But  his  theories 
of  government  (almost  the  only  subject  upon  which  his  thoughts  are 
employed),  the  squarest  and  compactest  that  ever  were  made,  are  com- 
posed out  of  limited  elements,  and  are  not,  therefore,  likely  to  stand 
service  very  well.  It  is  at  first  extremely  interesting  to  hear  Mr. 
Calhoun  talk ;  and  there  is  a  never-failing  evidence  of  power  in  all 
that  he  says  and  does,  which  commands  intellectual  reverence ;  but  the 
admiration  is  too  soon  turned  into  regret,  into  absolute  melancholy.  It 
is  impossible  to  resist  the  conviction,  that  all  this  force  can  be  at  best 
but  useless,  and  is  but  too  likely  to  be  very  mischievous.  His  mind 
has  long  lost  all  power  of  communicating  with  any  other.  I  know  of  no 
man  who  lives  in  such  utter  intellectual  solitude.  He  meets  men  and 
harangues  by  the  fireside  as  in  the  Senate  ,  he  is  wrought  like  a  piece 
of  machinery,  set  going  vehemently  by  a  weight,  and  stops  while  you 
answer  ;  he  either  passes  by  what  you  say,  or  twists  it  into  a  suitability 
with  what  is  in  his  head,  and  begins  to  lecture  again.  Of  course,  a 
mind  like  this  can  have  little  influence  in  the  Senate,  except  by  virtue, 
perpetually  wearing  out,  of  what  it  did  in  its  less  eccentric  days ;  but 
its  influence  at  home  is  to  be  dreaded.  There  is  no  hope  that  an  intel- 
lect so  cast  in  narrow  theories  will  accommodate  itself  to  varying  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  there  is  every  danger  that  it  will  break  up  all  that  it 
can  in  order  to  remould  the  materials  in  its  own  way.  Mr.  Calhoun 
is  as  full  as  ever  of  his  Nullification  doctrines ;  and  those  who  know 
the  force  that  is  in  him,  and  his  utter  incapacity  of  modification  by 
other  minds,  (after  having  gone  through  as  remarkable  a  revolution 
of  political  opinion  as  perhaps  any  man  ever  experienced,)  will  no 
more  expect  repose  and  self-retention  from  him  than  from  a  volcano 
in  full  force.  Relaxation  is  no  longer  in  the  power  of  his  will.  I  never 
•  saw  any  one  who  so  completely  gave  me  the  idea  of  possession.  Half 
an  hour's  conversation  with  him  is  enough  to  make  a  necessitarian  of 
anybody.  Accordingly,  he  is  more  complained  of  than  blamed  by  his 
enemies.  His  moments  of  softness  by  his  family,  and  when  recurring 
to  old  college  days,  are  hailed  by  all  as  a  relief  to  the  vehement  work- 
ing of  the  intellectual  machine,  —  a  relief  equally  to  himself  and  others. 
These  momenta  are  as  touching  to  the  observer  as  tears  on  the  face  of 
A  soldier." 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  153 

Of  bis  appearance  in  the  Senate,  and  of  his  manner  of  speak- 
ing, Miss  Martineau  records  her  impressions  also  :  — 

"  Mr.  Calhoun's  countenance  first  fixed  my  attention ;  the  splendid 
eye,  the  straight  forehead,  surmounted  by  a  load  of  stiff,  upright,  dark 
hair,  the  stern  brow,  the  inflexible  mouth,  —  it  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable heads  in  the  country." 

"  Mr.  Calhoun  followed,  and  impressed  me  very  strongly.  While 
he  kept  to  the  question,  what  lie  said  was  close,  good,  and  moderate, 
though  delivered  in  rapid  speech,  and  with  a  voice  not  sufficiently 
modulated.  But  when  he  began  to  reply  to  a  taunt  of  Colonel  Ben- 
ton's,  that  he  wanted  to  be  President,  the  force  of  his  speaking  became 
painful.  He  made  protestations  which  it  seemed  to  strangers  had 
better  have  been  spared,  '  that  he  would  not  turn  on  his  heel  to  be 
President,'  and  that  '  he  had  given  up  all  for  his  own  brave,  magnan- 
imous little  State  of  South  Carolina.'  While  thus  protesting,  his  eyes 
flashed,  his  brow  seemed  charged  with  thunder,  his  voice  became  almost 
a  bark,  and  his  sentences  were  abrupt,  intense,  producing  in  the  audi- 
tory a  sort  of  laugh  which  is  squeezed  out  of  people  by  the  application 
of  a  very  sudden  mental  force.  I  believe  he  knew  not  what  a  revela- 
tion he  made  in  a  few  sentences.  They  were  to  us  strangers  the  key, 
not  only  to  all  that  was  said  and  done  by  the  South  Carolina  party  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  session,  but  to  many  things  at  CJiarleston  and 
Columbia  which  would  otherwise  have  passed  unobserved  and  unex- 
plained" 

This  intelligent  observer  saw  the  chieftain  on  his  native 
heath :  — 

"  During  my  stay  in  Charleston,  Mr.  Calhoun  and  his  family  arrived 
from  Congress,  and  there  was  something  very  striking  in  the  welcome 
he  received,  like  that  of  a  chief  returned  to  the  bosom  of  his  clan. 
He  stalked  about  like  a  monarch  of  the  little  domain,  and  there  was 
certainly  an  air  of  mysterious  understanding  between  him  and  his 
followers." 

What  Miss  Martineau  says  of  the  impossibility  of  Calhoun's 
mind  communicating  with  another  mind,  is  confirmed  by  an  anec- 
dote which  we  have  heard  related  by  Dr.  Francis  Lieber,  who, 
Professor  in  the  College  of  South  Carolina,  was  for  several 
years  the  neighbor  and  intimate  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Calhoun. 
The  learned  Professor,  upon  his  return  from  a  visit  to  Europe, 


156  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

called  upon  him,  and  in  the  course  of  the  interview  Mr.  Calhoun 
declared,  in  his  positive  manner,  that  the  slaves  in  the  Southern 
States  were  better  lodged,  fed,  and  cared  for  than  the  mechanics 
of  Europe.  Dr.  Lieber,  being  fresh  from  that  continent,  assured 
the  Secretary  of  State  that  such  was  not  the  fact,  as  he  could 
testify  from  having  resided  in  both  lands.  "  Not  at  all,  not  at 
all,"  cried  Calhoun  dogmatically,  and  repeated  his  wild  assertion. 
The  Doctor  saw  that  the  poor  man  had  reached  the  condition  of 
absolute  unteachableness,  and  dropped  the  subject.  There  could 
not  well  be  a  more  competent  witness  on  the  point  in  dispute 
than  Dr.  Lieber ;  for,  besides  having  long  resided  in  both  conti- 
nents, it  was  the  habit  and  business,  of  his  life  to  observe  and 
ponder  the  effect  of  institutions  upon  the  welfare  of  those  who 
live  under  them.  Calhoun  pushed  him  out  of  the  witness-box, 
as  though  he  were  an  idiot. 

A  survey  of  the  last  fifteen  years  of  Calhoun's  life  discloses 
nothing  upon  which  the  mind  can  dwell  with  complacency.  On 
the  approach  of  every  Presidential  election,  we  see  him  making 
what  we  can  only  call  a  grab  at  a  nomination,  by  springing  upon 
the  country  some  unexpected  issue  designed  to  make  the  South  a 
unit  in  his  support.  From  1830  to  1836,  he  exhausted  all  the 
petty  arts  of  the  politician  to  defeat  General  Jackson's  resolve  to 
bring  in  Mr.  Van  Buren  as  his  successor ;  and  when  all  had 
failed,  he  made  an  abortive  attempt  to  precipitate  the  question  of 
the  annexation  of  Texas.  This,  too,  being  foiled,  Mr.  Van 
Buren  was  elected  President.  Then  Mr.  Calhoun,  who  had  for 
ten  years  never  spoken  of  Van  Buren  except  with  contempt, 
formed  the  notable  scheme  of  winning  over  the  President  so  far 
as  to  secure  his  support  for  the  succession.  He  advocated  all  the 
test  measures  of  Mr.  Van  Buren's  administration,  and  finished 
by  courting  a  personal  reconciliation  with  the  man  whom  he  had 
a  hundred  times  styled  a  fox  and  a  political  prostitute.  This 
design  coming  to  naught,  through  the  failure  of  Mr.  Van  Buren 
to  reach  a  second  term,  he  made  a  wild  rush  for  the  prize  by 
again  thrusting  forward  the  Texas  question.  Colonel  Ben  ton, 
who  was  the  predetermined  heir  of  Van  Buren,  has  detailed  the 
manner  in  which  this  was  done  in  a  very  curious  chapter  of 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  157 

his  "  Thirty  Years."  The  plot  was  successful,  so  far  as  plunging 
the  country  into  a  needless  war  was  concerned ;  but  it  was  Polk 
and  Taylor,  not  Calhoun,  who  obtained  the  Presidency  through 
it.  Mr.  Calhoun's  struggles  for  a  nomination  in  1844  were  truly 
pitiable,  but  they  were  not  known  to  the  public,  who  saw  him,  at 
a  certain  stage  of  the  campaign,  affecting  to  decline  a  nomination 
which  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  of  his  receiving. 

We  regret  that  we  have  not  space  to  show  how  much  the  agi- 
tation of  the  slavery  question,  from  1835  to  1850,  was  the  work 
of  this  one  man.  The  labors  of  Mr.  Garrison  and  Mr.  Wendell 
Phillips  might  have  borne  no  fruit  during  their  lifetime,  if  Cal- 
houn had  not  made  it  his  business  to  supply  them  with  material. 
"I  mean  to  force  the  issue  upon  the  North,"  he  once  wrote;  and 
he  did  force  it.  On  his  return  to  South  Carolina  after  the  termi- 
nation of  the  Nullification  troubles,  he  said  to  his  friends  there, 
(so  avers  Colonel  Benton,  "Thirty  Years,"  Vol.  II.  p.  786,) 
"  that  the  South  could  never  be  united  against  the  North  on  the 
tariff  question ;  that  the  sugar  interest  of  Louisiana  would  keep 
her  out ;  and  that  the  basis  of  Southern  union  must  be  shifted  to 
the  slave  question."  Here  we  have  the  key  to  the  mysteries  of  all 
his  subsequent  career.  The  denial  of  the  right  of  petition,  the 
annexation  of  Texas,  the  forcing  of  slavery  into  the  Territories, 
—  these  were  among  the  issues  upon  which  he  hoped  to  unite  the 
South  in  his  favor,  while -retaining  enough  strength  at  the  North 
to  secure  his  election.  Failing  in  all  his  schemes  of  personal 
advancement,  he  died  in  1850,  still  protesting  that  slavery  is 
divine,  and  that  it  must  rule  this  country  or  ruin  it.  This  is 
really  the  sum  and  substance  of  that  last  speech  to  the  Senate, 
which  he  had  not  strength  enough  left  to  deliver. 

We  have  run  rapidly  over  Mr.  Calhoun's  career  as  a  public 
man.  It  remains  for  us  to  notice  his  claims  as  a  teacher  of  polit- 
ical philosophy,  a  character  in  which  he  influenced  his  country- 
men more  powerfully  after  he  was  in  his  grave  than  he  did  while 
living  among  them. 

The  work  upon  which  his  reputation  as  a  thinker  will  rest  with 
posterity  is  his  Treatise  on  the  Nature  of  Government.  Writ- 
ten in  the  last  year  of  his  life,  when  at  length  all  hope  of  furthei 


158  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

personal  advancement  must  have  died  within  him,  it  may  b« 
taken  as  the  deliberate  record  or  summary  of  his  political  opin- 
ions. He  did  not  live  to  revise  it,  and  the  concluding  portion  he 
evidently  meant  to  enlarge  and  illustrate,  as  was  ascertained  from 
notes  and  memoranda  in  pencil  upon  the  manuscript.  After  the 
death  of  the  author  in  1850,  the  work  was  published  in  a  sub- 
stantial and  elegant  form  by  the  Legislature  of  South  Carolina, 
who  ordered  copies  to  be  presented  to  individuals  of  note  in 
science  and  literature,  and  to  public  libraries.  We  are,  there- 
fore, to  regard  this  volume,  not  merely  as  a  legacy  of  Mr.  Cal- 
houn  to  his  countrymen,  but  as  conveying  to  us  the  sentiments 
of  South  Carolina  with  regard  to  her  rights  and  duties  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Union.  Events  since  its  publication  have  shown  us 
that  it  is  more  even  than  this.  The  assemblage  of  troublesome 
communities  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to  style  "the 
South,"  adopted  this  work  as  their  political  gospel.  From  this 
source  the  politicians  of  the  Southern  States  have  drawn  all  they 
have  chosen  to  present  to  the  world  in  justification  of  their  course 
which  bears  the  semblance  of  argument ;  for,  in  truth,  Mr.  Cal- 
houn,  since  Jefferson  and  Madison  passed  from  the  stage,  is  al- 
most the  only  thinking  being  the  South  has  had.  His  was  a  very 
narrow,  intense,  and  untrustworthy  mind,  but  he  was  an  angel  of 
light  compared  with  the  men  who  have  been  recently  conspicuous 
in  the  Southern  States. 

This  treatise  on  government  belongs  to  the  same  class  of  works 
as  Louis  Napoleon's  Life  of  Caesar,  having  for  its  principal  object 
one  that  lies  below  the  surface,  and  the  effect  of  both  is  damaged 
by  the  name  on  the  title-page.  The  moment  we  learn  that  Louis 
Napoleon  wrote  that  Life  of  Caesar,  the  mind  is  intent  upon  dis- 
covering allusions  tc  recent  history,  which  the  author  has  an 
interest  in  misrepresenting.  The  common  conscience  of  mankind 
condemns  him  as  a  perjured  usurper,  and  the  murderer  of  many 
of  his  unoffending  fellow-citizens.  No  man,  whatever  the  power 
and  splendor  of  his  position,  can  rest  content  under  the  scorn  of 
mankind,  unless  his  own  conscience  gives  him  a  cl<*ar  acquittal, 
and  assures  him  that  one  day  the  verdict  of  his  fellow-men  will 
be  reversed ;  and  even  in  that  case,  it  is  not  every  man  that  can 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  159 

• 

possess  his  soul  in  patience.  Every  page  of  the  Life  of  Caesar 
was  composed  with  a  secret,  perhaps  half-unconscious  reference 
to  that  view  of  Louis  Napoleon's  conduct  which  is  expressed  with 
such  deadly  power  in  Mr.  Kipglake's  History  of  the  Crimean 
War,  and  which  is  so  remarkably  confirmed  by  an  American 
eyewitness,  the  late  Mr.  Goodrich,  who  was  Consul  at  Paris  in 
1848.  Published  anonymously,  the  Life  of  Caesar  might  have 
had  some  effect.  Given  to  the  world  by  Napoleon  III.,  every 
one  reads  it  as  he  would  a  defence  by  an  ingenious  criminal  of 
his  own  cause.  The  highest  praise  that  can  be  bestowed  upon  it 
is,  that  it  is  very  well  done,  considering  the  object  the  author  had 
in  view. 

So,  in  reading  Mr.  Calhoun's  disquisition  upon  government, 
we  are  constantly  reminded  that  the  author  was  a  man  who  had 
only  escaped  trial  and  execution  for  treason  by  suddenly  arrest- 
ing the  treasonable  measures  which  he  had  caused  to  be  set  on 
foot.  Though  it  contains  but  one  allusion  to  events  in  South 
Carolina  in  1833,  the  work  is  nothing  but  a  labored,  refined  jus- 
tification of  those  events.  It  has  been  even  coupled  with  Ed- 
wards on  the  Will,  as  the  two  best  examples  of  subtle  reasoning 
which  American  literature  contains.  Admit  his  premises,  and 
you  are  borne  along,  at  a  steady  pace,  in  a  straight  path,  to  the 
final  inferences:  that  the  sovereign  State  of  South  Carolina  pos- 
sesses, by  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  an  absolute  veto 
upon  every  act  of  Congress,  and  may  secede  from  the  Union 
whenever  she  likes ;  and  that  these  rights  of  veto  and  secession 
do  not  merely  constitute  the  strength  of  the  Constitution,  but  are 
the  Constitution,  —  and  do  not  merely  tend  to  perpetuate  the 
Union,  but  are  the  Union's  self,  —  the  thing  that  binds  the  States 
together. 

Mr.  Calhoun  begins  his  treatise  by  assuming  that  government 
is  necessary.  He  then  explains  why  it  is  necessary.  It  is  neces- 
sary because  man  is  more  selfish  than  sympathetic,  feeling  more 
intensely  what  affects  himself  than  what  affects  others.  Hence 
he  will  encroach  on  the  rights  of  others ;  and  to  prevent  this, 
government  is  indispensable. 

But  government,  since  it  must  be  administered  by  selfish  men. 


160  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

• 

will  feel  more  intensely  what  affects  itself  than  what  affects  the 
people  governed.  It  is,  therefore,  the  tendency  of  all  govern- 
ments to  encroach  on  the  rights  of  the  people  ;  and  they  certainly 
will  do  so,  if  they  can.  The  same  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
the  same  love  of  accumulation,  which  tempts  individuals  to  over- 
reach their  neighbors,  inclines  government  to  preserve,  increase, 
and  consolidate  its  powers.  Therefore,  as  individual  selfishness 
requires  to  be  held  in  check  by  government,  so  government  must 
be  restrained  by  something. 

This  something  is  the  constitution,  written  or  unwritten.  A 
constitution  is  to  the  government  what  government  is  to  the 
people  :  it  is  the  restraint  upon  its  selfishness.  Mr.  Calhoun 
assumes  here  that  the  relation  between  government  and  gov- 
erned is  naturally  and  inevitably  "  antagonistic."  He  does 
not  perceive  that  government  is  the  expression  of  man's  love 
of  justice,  and  the  means  by  which  the  people  cause  justice  to  be 
done.* 

Government,  he  continues,  must  be  powerful ;  must  have  at 
command  the  resources  of  the  country;  must  be  so  strong  that 
it  can,  if  it  will,  disregard  the  limitations  of  the  constitution. 
The  question  is,  How  to  compel  a  government,  holding  such 
powers,  having  an  army,  a  navy,  and  a  national  treasury  at 
command,  to  obey  the  requirements  of  a  mere  piece  of  printed 
paper  ? 

Power,  says  Mr.  Calhoun,  can  only  be  resisted  by  power. 
Therefore,  a  proper  constitution  must  leave  to  the  governed  the 
power  to  resist  encroachments.  This  is  done  in  free  countries 
by  universal  suffrage  and  the  election  of  rulers  at  frequent  and 
fixed  periods.  This  gives  to  rulers  the  strongest  possible  motive 
to  please  the  people,  which  can  only  be  done  by  executing  then 
will. 

So  far,  most  readers  will  follow  the  author  without  serious  dif- 
ficulty. But  now  we  come  to  passages  which  no  one  could  un- 
derstand who  was  not  acquainted  with  the  Nullification  imbroglio 
of  1833.  A  philosophic  Frenchman  or  German,  who  should  read 
this  work  with  a  view  to  enlightening  his  mind  upon  the  nature 
of  government,  would  be  much  puzzled  after  passing  the  thir 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  161 

teenth  page  ;  for  at  that  point  the  hidden  loadstone  begins  to  op 
erate  upon  the  needle  of  Mr.  Calhoun's  compass,  and  he  is  aa 
Louis  Napoleon  writing  the  Life  of  Caesar. 

Universal  suffrage,  he  continues,  and  the  frequent  election  of 
rulers,  are  indeed  the  primary  and  fundamental  principles  of  a 
constitutional  government ;  and  they  are  sufficient  to  give  the 
people  an  effective  control  over  those  whom  they  have  elected. 
But  this  is  all  they  can  do.  They  cannot  make  rulers  good,  or 
just,  or  obedient  to  the  constitution,  but  only  faithful  representa- 
tives of  the  majority  of  the  people  and  executors  of  the  will  of 
that  majority.  The  right  of  suffrage  transfers  the  supreme  au- 
thority from  the  rulers  to  the  body  of  the  community,  and  the 
more  perfectly  it  does  this,  the  more  perfectly  it  accomplishes  its 
object.  Majority  is  king.  But  this  king,  too,  like  all  others,  is 
selfish,  and  will  abuse  his  power  if  he  can. 

So,  we  have  been  arguing  in  a  circle,  and  have  come  back  to 
the  starting-point.  Government  keeps  within  bounds  the  selfish- 
ness of  the  people  ;  the  constitution  restrains  the  selfishness  of  the 
government ;  but,  in  doing  so,  it  has  only  created  a  despot  as 
much  to  be  dreaded  as  the  power  it  displaced.  We  are  still, 
therefore,  confronted  by  the  original  difficulty.  How  are  we  to 
limit  the  sway  of  tyrant  Majority  ? 

If,  says  Mr.  Calhoun,  all  the  people  had  the  same  interests,  so 
that  a  law  which  oppressed  one  interest  would  oppress  all  inter- 
ests, then  the  right  of  suffrage  would  itself  be  sufficient ;  and  the 
only  question  would  be  as  to  the  fitness  of  different  candidates. 
But  this  is  not  the  case.  Taxation,  for  example :  no  system  of 
taxation  can  be  arranged  that  will  not  bear  oppressively  upon 
some  interests  or  section.  Disbursements,  also :  some  portions 
of  the  country  must  receive  back,  in  the  form  of  governmental 
disbursements,  more  money  than  they  pay  in  taxes,  and  others 
less  ;  and  this  may  be  carried  so  far,  that  one  region  may  be  ut- 
terly impoverished,  while  others  are  enriched.  King  Majority 
may  have  his  favorites.  He  may  now  choose  to  favor  agriculture ; 
now,  commerce  ;  now,  manufactures  ;  and  so  arrange  the  imports 
as  to  crush  one  for  the  sake  of  promoting  the  others.  "  Crush  " 
is  Mr.  Calhoun's  word.  "  One  portion  of  the  community,"  h« 


162  JOHN   C.  CALHOUN. 

says,  "may  be  crushed,  and  another  elevated  on  its  ruins,  by 
systematically  perverting  the  power  of  taxation  and  disbursement, 
for  the  purpose  of  aggrandizing  or  building  up  one  portion  of  the 
community  at  the  expense  of  the  other."  May  be.  But  has  not 
the  most  relentless  despot  an  interest  in  the  prosperity  of  his 
subjects  ?  And  can  one  interest  be  crushed  without  manifest 
and  immediate  injury  to  all  the  others?  Mr.  Calhoun  says: 
That  this  fell  power  to  crush  important  interests  will  be  used,  is 
exactly  as  certain  as  that  it  can  be. 

All  this  would  be  unintelligible  to  our  foreign  philosopher,  but 
American  citizens  know  very  well  what  it  means.  Through  this 
fine  lattice-work  fence  they  discern  the  shining  countenance  of 
the  colored  person. 

But  now,  what  remedy  ?  Mr.  Calhoun  approaches  this  part 
of  the  subject  with  the  due  acknowledgment  of  its  difficulty. 
The  remedy,  of  course,  is  Nullification ;  but  he  is  far  from  using 
a  word  so  familiar.  There  is  but  one  mode,  he  remarks,  by 
which  the  majority  of  the  whole  people  can  be  prevented  from 
oppressing  the  minority,  or  portions  of  the  minority,  and  that  is 
this :  "  By  taking  the  sense  of  each  interest  or  portion  of  the 
community,  which  may  be  unequally  and  injuriously  affected  by 
the  action  of  the  government,  separately,  through  its  own  major- 
ity, or  in  some  other  way  by  which  its  voice  can  be  expressed ; 
and  to  require  the  consent  of  each  interest,  either  to  put  or  to 
keep  the  government  in  motion."  And  this  can  only  be  done  by 
such  an  "organism"  as  will  "give  to  each  division  or  interest 
either  a  concurrent  voice  in  making  and  executing  the  laws  or  a 
veto  on  their  execution." 

This  is  perfectly  intelligible  when  read  by  the  light  of  the 
history  of  1833.  But  no  human  being  unacquainted  with  that 
history  could  gather  Mr.  Calhoun's  meaning.  Our  studious 
foreigner  would  suppose  by  the  word  "  interest,"  that  the  author 
meant  the  manufacturing  interest,  the  commercial  and  agricultu- 
ral interests,  and  that  each  of  these  should  have  its  little  congress 
concurring  in  or  vetoing  the  acts  of  the  Congress  sitting  at 
Washington.  We,  however,  know  that  Mr.  Calhoun  meant  that 
South  Carolina  should  have  the  power  to  nullify  acts  of  Con<jre*i 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  163 

and  £ive  law  to  the  Union.  He  does  not  tell  us  Lew  South 
Carolina's  tyrant  Majority  is  to  be  kept  within  bounds ;  but  only 
how  that  majority  is  to  control  the  majority  of  the  whole  country. 
He  has  driven  his  problem  into  a  corner,  and  there  he  leaves  it. 

Having  thus  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  that  a  law,  to  be  binding 
on  all  "  interests,"  i.  e.  on  all  the  States  of  the  Union,  must  be 
concurred  in  by  all,  he  proceeds  to  answer  the  obvious  objection, 
that  "  interests  "  so  antagonistic  could  never  be  brought  to  unani- 
mous agreement.  He  thinks  this  would  present  no  difficulty, 
and  adduces  some  instances  of  unanimity  to  illustrate  his  point. 

First,  trial  by  jury.  Here  are  twelve  men,  of  different  char- 
acter and  calibre,  shut  up  in  a  room  to  agree  upon  a  verdict,  in 
a  cause  upon  which  able  men  have  argued  upon  opposite  sides. 
How  unlikely  that  they  should  be  able  to  agree  unanimously ! 
Yet  they  generally  do,  and  that  speedily.  Why  is  this?  Be- 
cause, answers  Mr.  Calhoun,  they  go  into  their  room  knowing 
that  nothing  short  of  unanimity  will  answer ;  and  consequently 
every  man  is  disposed  to  agree  with  his  fellows,  and,  if  he  cannot 
agree,  to  compromise.  "Not  at  all."  The  chief  reason  why 
juries  generally  agree  is,  that  they  are  not  interested  in  the 
matter  in  dispute.  The  law  of  justice  is  so  plainly  written  in  the 
human  heart,  that  the  fan*  thing  is  usually  obvious  to  disinterested 
minds,  or  can  be  made  so.  It  is  interest,  it  is  rivalry,  that  blinds 
us  to  what  is  right;  and  Mr.  Calhoun's  problem  is  to  render 
"antagonistic"  interests  unanimous.  We  cannot,  therefore,  ac- 
t  ept  this  illustration  as  a  case  in  point. 

Secondly,  Poland.  Poland  is  not  the  country  which  an 
American  would  naturally  visit  to  gain  political  wisdom.  Mr. 
Calhoun,  however,  repairs  thither,  and  brings  home  the  fact,  that 
in  the  turbulent  Diet  of  that  unhappy  kingdom  every  member 
had  an  absolute  veto  upon  every  measure.  Nay,  more :  no  king 
could  be  elected  without  the  unanimous  vote  of  an  assembly  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  persons.  Yet  Poland  lasted  two 
centuries!  The' history  of  those  two  centuries  is  a  sufficient 
comment  upon  Mr  Calhoun's  system,  to  say  nothing  of  the  final 
catastrophe,  which  Mr.  Calhoun  confesses  was  owing  to  "tho 
extreme  to  which  the  principle  was  carried."  A  sound  principle 


164  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

cannot  be  carried  to  an  unsafe  extreme ;  it  is  impossible  for  a 
man  to  be  too  right.  If  it  is  right  for  South  Carolina  to  control 
and  nullify  the  United  States,  it  is  right  for  any  one  man  in  South 
Carolina  to  control  and  nullify  South  Carolina.  One  of  the  tests 
of  a  system  is  to  ascertain  where  it  will  carry  us  if  it  is  pushed 
to  the  uttermost  extreme.  Mr.  Calhoun  gave  his  countrymen 
this  valuable  information  when  he  cited  the  lamentable  case  of 
Poland. 

From  Poland  the  author  descends  to  the  Six  Nations,  the  fed- 
eral council  of  which  was  composed  of  forty-two  members,  each 
of  whom  had  an  absolute  veto  upon  every  measure.  Neverthe- 
less, this  confederacy,  he  says,  became  the  most  powerful  and  the 
most  united  of  all  the  Indian  nations.  He  omits  to  add,  that  it 
was  the  facility  with  which  this  council  could  be  wielded  by  the 
French  and  English  in  turn,  that  hastened  the  grinding  of  the 
Six  Nations  to  pieces  between  those  two  millstones. 

Rome  is  Mr.  Calhoun's  next  illustration.  The  Tribunus 
Plebis,  he  observes,  had  a  veto  upon  the  passage  of  all  laws  and 
upon  the  execution  of  all  laws,  and  thus  prevented  the  oppression 
of  the  plebeians  by  the  patricians.  To  show  the  inapplicability  of 
this  example  to  the  principle  in  question,  to  show  by  what  steps 
this  tribunal,  long  useful  and  efficient,  gradually  absorbed  the 
power  of  the  government,  and  became  itself,  first  oppressive,  and 
then  an  instrument  in  the  overthrow  of  the  constitution,  would 
be  to  write  a  history  of  Rome.  Niebuhr  is  accessible  to  the  pub- 
lic, and  Niebuhr  knew  more  of  the  Tribunus  Plebis  than  Mr. 
Calhoun.  We  cannot  find  in  Niebuhr  anything  to  justify  the 
author's  aim  to  constitute  patrician  Carolina  the  Tribunus  Plebis 
of  the  United  States. 

Lastly,  England.  England,  too,  has  that  safeguard  of  liberty, 
"  an  organism  by  which  the  voice  of  each  order  or  class  is  taken 
through  its  appropriate  organ,  and  which  requires  the  concurring 
voice  of  all  to  constitute  that  of  the  whole  community.*'  These 
orders  are  King,  Lords,  and  Commons.  They  must  all  concur 
in  every  law,  each  having  a  veto  upon  the  action  of  the  two 
others.  The  government  of  the  United  States  is  also  so  arranged 
that  the  President  and  the  two  Houses  of  Congress  must  concui 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  165 

in  every  enactment ;  but  then  they  all  represent  the  same  order 
or  interest,  the  people  of  the  United  States.  The  English  gov- 
ernment, says  Mr.  Calhoun,  is  so  exquisitely  constituted,  that  the 
greater  the  revenues  of  the  government,  the  more  stable  it  is ; 
because  those  revenues,  being  chiefly  expended  upon  the  lords 
and  gentlemen,  render  them  exceedingly  averse  to  any  radical 
change.  Mr.  Calhoun  does  not  mention  that  the  majority  of  the 
people  of  England  are  not  represented  in  the  government  at  alL 
Perhaps,  however,  the  following  passage,  in  a  previous  part  of 
the  work,  was  designed  to  meet  their  case: — 

"  It  is  a  great  and  dangerous  error  to  suppose  that  all  people  are 
equally  entitled  to  liberty.  It  is  a  reward  to  be  earned,  not  a  blessing 
to  be  gratuitously  lavished  on  all  alike ;  —  a  reward  reserved  for  the 
intelligent,  the  patriotic,  the  virtuous,  and  deserving ;  and  not  a  boon 
to  be  bestowed  on  a  people  too  ignorant,  degraded,  and  vicious  to  be 
capable  either  of  appreciating  or  of  enjoying  it." 

Mr.  Calhoun  does  not  tell  us  who  is  to  bestow  this  precious 
boon.  He  afterwards  remarks,  that  the  progress  of  a  people 
"  rising  "  to  the  point  of  civilization  which  entitles  them  to  free- 
dom, is  "  necessarily  slow."  How  very  slow,  then,  it  must  be, 
when  the  means  of  civilization  are  forbidden  to  them  by  law ! 

With  his  remarks  upon  England,  Mr.  Calhoun  terminates  his 
discussion  of  the  theory  of  government.  Let  us  grant  all  that  he 
claims  for  it,  and  see  to  what  it  conducts  us.  Observe  that  his 
grand  position  is,  that  a  "  numerical  majority,"  like  all  other  sov- 
ereign powers,  will  certainly  tyrannize  if  it  can.  His  remedy  for 
this  is,  that  a  local  majority,  the  majority  of  each  State,  shall 
have  a  veto  upon  the  acts  of  the  majority  of  the  whole  country. 
But  he  omits  to  tell  us  how  that  local  majority  is  to  be  kept  within 
bounds.  According  to  his  reasoning,  South  Carolina  should  have 
a  veto  upon  acts  of  Congress.  Very  well ;  then  each  county  of 
South  Carolina  should  have  a  veto  upon  the  acts  of  the  State 
Legislature ;  each  town  should  have  a  veto  upon  the  behests  of 
the  county  ;  and  each  voter  upon  the  decisions  of  the  town.  Mr, 
Calhoun's  argument,  therefore,  amounts  to  this  :  that  one  voter 
in  South  Carolina  should  have  the  constitutional  right  to  nullify 


166  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

an  act  of  Congress,  and  no  law  should  be  binding  which  has  not 
received  the  assent  of  every  citizen. 

Having  completed  the  theoretical  part  of  his  subject,  the  author 
proceeds  to  the  practical.  In  his  first  essay  he  describes  the 
"  organism  "  that  is  requisite  for  the  preservation  of  liberty  ;  and 
in  his  second,  he  endeavors  to  show  that  the  United  States  is 
precisely  such  an  organism,  since  the  Constitution,  rightly  inter- 
preted, does  confer  upon  South  Carolina  the  right  to  veto  the  de- 
crees of  the  numerical  majority.  Mr.  Calhoun's  understanding 
appears  to  much  better  advantage  in  this  second  discourse,  which 
contains  the  substance  of  all  his  numerous  speeches  on  nullifica- 
tion. It  is  marvellous  how  this  morbid*  and  intense  mind  had 
brooded  over  a  single  subject,  and  how  it  had  subjugated  all  his- 
tory and  all  law  to  its  single  purpose.  But  we  cannot  follow  Mr. 
Calhoun  through  the  tortuous  mazes  of  his  second  essay ;  nor,  if 
we  could,  should  we  be  able  to  draw  readers  after  us.  "We  can 
only  say  this  :  Let  it  be  granted  that  there  are  two  ways  in  which 
/he  Constitution  can  be  fairly  interpreted  ;  —  one,  the  Websterian 
method  ;  the  other,  that  of  Mr.  Calhoun.  On  one  of  these  inter- 
pretations the  Constitution  will  work,  and  on  the  other  it  will 
not.  We  prefer  the  interpretation  that  is  practicable,  and  leave 
the  other  party  to  the  enjoyment  of  their  argument.  Nations 
cannot  be  governed  upon  principles  so  recondite  and  refined,  that 
notvone  citizen  in  a  hundred  will  so  much  as  follow  a  mere  state- 
ment of  them.  The  fundamental  law  must  be  as  plain  as  the  ten 
commandments,  —  as  plain  as  the  four  celebrated  propositions  in 
which  Mr.  Webster  put  the  substance  of  his  speeches  in  reply  to 
Mr.  Calhoun's  ingenious  defence  of  his  conduct  in  1833. 

The  author  concludes  his  essay  by  a  prophetic  glance  at  the 
future.  He  remarks,  that  with  regard  to  the  future  of  the 
United  States,  as  then  governed,  only  one  thing  could  be  pre- 
dicted with  absolute  certainty,  and  that  was,  that  the  Republic 
could  not  last.  It  might  lapse  into  a  monarchy,  or  it  might  be 
dismembered,  —  no  man  could  say  which ;  but  that  one  of  these 
things  would  happen  was  entirely  certain.  The  rotation-in-offico 
•ystem,  as  introduced  by  General  Jackson,  and  sanctioned  by  hia 
lubservient  Congress,  had  rendered  the  Presidential  office  a  prize 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN.  167 

BO  tempting,  IK  which  so  large  a  number  of  men  hau  an  interest, 
that  the  contest  would  gradually  cease  to  be  elective,  and  would 
finally  lose  the  elective  form.  The  incumbent  would  appoint  hit 
successor ;  and  "  thus  the  absolute  form  of  a  popular,  would  end 
in  the  absolute  form  of  a  monarchical  government,"  and  there 
would  be  no  possibility  of  even  rendering  the  monarchy  limited 
or  constitutional.  Mr.  Calhoun  does  not  mention  here  the  name 
of  General  Jackson  or  of  Martin  Van  Buren,  but  American 
readers  know  very  well  what  he  was  thinking  of  when  he  wrote 
the  passage. 

Disunion,  according  to  Mr.  Calhoun,  was  another  of  our  perils. 
In  view  of  recent  events,  our  readers  may  be  interested  in  read- 
ing his  remarks  on  this  subject,  written  in  1849,  among  the  last 
words  he  ever  deliberately  put  upon  paper :  — 

"  The  conditions  impelling  the  government  toward  disunion  are  very 
powerful.  They  consist  chiefly  of  two;  —  the  one  arising  from  the 
great  extent  of  tho  country ;  the  other,  from  its  division  into  separate 
States,  having  local  institutions  and  interests.  The  former,  under  the 
operation  of  the  numerical  majority,  has  necessarily  given  to  the  two 
great  parties,  in  their  contest  for  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  the 
government,  a  geographical  character,  for  reasons  which  have  been 
fully  stated.  This  contest  must  finally  settle  down  into  a  struggle  on 
the  part  of  the  stronger  section  to  obtain  the  permanent  control ;  and 
on  the  part  of  the  weaker,  to  preserve  its  independence  and  equality 
as  members  of  the  Union.  The  conflict  will  thus  become  one  between 
the  States  occupying  the  different  sections,  —  that  is,  between  organ- 
ized bodies  on  both  sides,  —  each,  in  the  event  of  separation,  having 
the  means  of  avoiding  the  confusion  and  anarchy  to  which  the  parts 
would  be  subject  without  such  organization.  This  would  contribute 
much  to  increase  the  power  of  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  weaker  sec- 
tion against  the  stronger  in  possession  of  the  government.  With  these 
great  advantages  and  resources,  it  is  hardly  possible  that  the  parties 
occupying  the  weaker  section  would  consent  quietly,  under  any  circum- 
stances, to  break  down  from  independent  and  equal  sovereignties  into 
a  dependent  and  colonial  condition ;  and  still  less  so,  under  circum- 
stances that  would  revolutionize  them  internally,  and  put  their  very 
existence  as  a  people  at  stane.  Never  was  there  an  issue  between 
independent  States  that  involved  greater  calamity  to  the  conquered, 
than  is  involved  in  that  between  the  States  which  compose  the  twd 


168  JOHN  C.   CALHOUN. 

sections  of  the  Union.  The  condition  of  the  weaker,  should  it  sink 
from  a  state  of  independence  and  equality  to  one  of  dependence  and 
subjection,  would  be  more  calamitous  than  ever  before  befell  a  civilized 
people.  It  is  vain  to  think  that,  with  such  consequences  before  them, 
they  will  not  resist ;  especially,  when  resistance  may  save  them,  and 
cannot  render  their  condition  worse.  That  this  will  take  place,  unless 
the  stronger  section  desists  from  its  course,  may  be  assumed  as  certain : 
and  that,  if  forced  to  resist,  the  weaker  section  would  prove  successful, 
and  the  system  end  in  disunion,  is,  to  say  the  least,  highly  probable. 
But  if  it  should  fail,  the  great  increase  of  power  and  patronage  which 
must,  in  consequence,  accrue  to  the  government  of  the  United  States, 
would  but  render  certain  and  hasten  the  termination  in  the  other  al- 
ternative. So  that,  at  all  events,  to  the  one  or  to  the  other  —  to  mon- 
archy or  disunion  —  it  must  come,  if  not  prevented  by  strenuous  or 
timely  efforts." 

This  is  a  very  instructive  passage,  and  one  that  shows  well  the 
complexity  of  human  motives.  Mr.  Calhoun  betrays  the  secret 
v'hat,  after  all,  the  contest  between  the  two  sections  is  a  "  contest 
for  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  the  government,"  and  that  all 
the  rest  is  but  pretext  and  afterthought,  —  as  General  Jackson 
said  it  was.  He  plainly  states  that  the  policy  of  the  South  is 
rule  or  ruin.  Besides  this,  he  intimates  that  there  is  in  the  Unit- 
ed States  an  "  interest,"  an  institution,  the  development  of  which 
is  incompatible  with  the  advancement  of  the  general  interest ; 
and  either  that  one  interest  must  overshadow  and  subdue  all  other 
interests,  or  all  other  interests  must  unite  to  crush  that  one.  The 
latter  has  been  done. 

Mr.  Calhoun  proceeds  to  suggest  the  measures  by  which  these 
calamities  can  be  averted.  The  government  must  be  "  restored 
to  its  federal  character  "  by  the  repeal  of  all  laws  tending  to  the 
annihilation  of  State  sovereignty,  and  by  a  strict  construction  of 
the  Constitution.  The  President's  power  of  removal  must  be 
limited.  In  earlier  times,  these  would  have  sufficed  ;  but  at  that 
day  the  nature  of  the  disease  was  such  that  nothing  could  reach  it 
short  of  an  organic  change,  which  should  give  the  weaker  section 
a  negative  on  the  action  of  the  government.  Mr.  Calhoun  was 
of  opinion  that  this  could  best  be  done  by  our  having  two  Presi 
dents,  —  one  elected  by  the  North  and  the  other  by  the  South, — 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  169 

the  assent  of  both  to  be  necessary  to  every  act  of  Congress.    Un« 
der  such  a  system,  he  thought,  — 

"  The  Presidential  election,  instead  of  dividing  the  Union  into  hos- 
tile geographical  parties,  the  stronger  struggling  to  enlarge  its  powers, 
and  the  weaker  to  defend  its  rights,  as  is  now  the  case,  would  become 
the  means  of  restoring  harmony  and  concord  to  the  country  and  the 
government.  It  would  make  the  Union  a  union  in  truth,  —  a  bond 
of  mutual  affection  and  brotherhood  ;  and  not  a  mere  connection  used 
by  the  stronger  as  the  instrument  of  dominion  and  aggrandizement, 
and  submitted  to  by  the  weaker  only  from  the  lingering  remains 
of  former  attachment,  and  the  fading  hope  of  being  able  to  restore 
the  government  to  what  it  was  originally  intended  to  be,  —  a  blessing 
to  all." 

The  utter  misapprehension  of  the  purposes  and  desires  of  the 
Northern  people  which  this  passage  betrays,  and  which  pervades 
all  the  later  writings  of  Mr.  Calhoun,  can  only  be  explained  by 
the  supposition  that  he  judged  them  out  of  his  own  heart.  It  is 
astounding  to  hear  the  author  of  the  annexation  of  Texas  charg- 
ing the  North  with  the  lust  of  dominion,  and  the  great  Nullifier 
accusing  Northern  statesmen  of  being  wholly  possessed  by  the 
mania  to  be  President. 

"Webster,  Clay,  and  Calhoun, — these  were  great  names  in  their 
day.  When  the  last  of  them  had  departed,  the  country  felt  a 
sense  of  bereavement,  and  even  of  self-distrust,  doubting  if  ever 
again  such  men  would  adorn  the  public  councils.  A  close  scru- 
tiny into  the  lives  of  either  of  them  would,  of  course,  compel  us  to 
deduct  something  from  his  contemporary  renown,  for  they  were 
all,  in  some  degree,  at  some  periods,  diverted  from  their  true  path 
by  an  ambition  beneath  an  American  statesman,  whose  true  glory 
alone  consists  in  serving  his  country  well  in  that  sphere  to  which 
his  fellow-citizens  call  him.  From  such  a  scrutiny  the  fame  of 
neither  of  those  distinguished  men  would  suffer  so  much  as  that 
of  Calhoun.  His  endowments  were  not  great,  nor  of  the  most  val- 
uable kind ;  and  his  early  education,  hasty  and  very  incomplete,  was 
not  continued  by  maturer  study.  He  read  rather  to  confirm  his 
impressions  than  to  correct  them.  It  was  impossible  that  he 
should  ever  have  been  wise,  because  he  refused  to  admit  his  lia- 
8 


170  JOHN   C.   CALHOUN. 

bility  to  error.  Never  was  mental  assurance  more  complete,  and 
seldom  less  warranted  by  innate  or  acquired  superiority.  If  his 
knowledge  of  books  was  slight,  his  opportunities  of  observing  men 
were  still  more  limited,  since  he  passed  his  whole  life  in  places  as 
exceptional,  perhaps,  as  any  in  the  world,  —  Washington  and 
South  Carolina.  From  the  beginning  of  his  public  career  there 
was  a  canker  in  the  heart  of  it ;  for,  while  his  oath,  as  a  member 
of  Congress,  to  support  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  was 
still  fresh  upon  his  lips,  he  declared  that  his  attachment  to  the 
JJnion  was  conditional  and  subordinate.  'He  said  that  the  alliance 
between  the  Southern  planters  and  Northern  Democrats  was  a 
false  and  calculated  compact,  to  be  broken  when  the  planters 
could  no  longer  rule  by  it.  While  he  resided  in  Washington,  and 
acted  with  the  Republican  party  in  the  flush  of  its  double  triumph, 
he  appeared  a  respectable  character,  and  won  golden  opinions 
from  eminent  men  in  both  parties.  But  when  he  was  again  sub- 
jected to  the  narrowing  and  perverting  influence  of  a  residence 
in  South  Carolina,  he  shrunk  at  once  to  his  original  proportions, 
and  became  thenceforth,  not  the  servant  of  his  country,  but  the 
special  pleader  of  a  class  and  the  representative  of  a  section. 
And  yet,  with  that  strange  judicial  blindness  which  has  ever  been 
the  doom  of  the  defenders  of  wrong,  he  still  hoped  to  attain  the 
Presidency.  There  is  scarcely  any  example  of  infatuation  more 
remarkable  than  this.  Here  we  have,  lying  before  us  at  this  mo- 
ment, undeniable  proofs,  in  the  form  of  "  campaign  lives "  and 
"  campaign  documents,"  that,  as  late  as  1844  there  was  money 
spent  and  labor  done  for  the  purpose  of  placing  him  in  nomina- 
tion for  the  highest  office. 

'Calhoun  failed  in  all  the  leading  objects  of  his  public  life, 
except  one ;  bu*  in  that  one  his  success  will  be  memorable  for- 
ever. He  has  left  it  on  record  (see  Benton,  II.  698)  that  his 
great  aim,  from  1835  to  1847,  was  to  force  the  slavery  issue  on 
the  North.  "It  is  our  duty,"  he  wrote  in  1847,  "  to  force  the 
issue  on  the  North."  "  Had  the  South,"  he  continued,  "  or  even 
my  own  State,  backed  me,  I  would  hare  forced  the  issue  on  the 
North  in  1835";  and  he  welcomed  the  Wilmot  Proviso  in  1847 
because,  as  he  privately  wrote,  it  would  be  the  mean?  of  "  eno 


JOHN  C.   CALHOUN.  171 

bling  us  lo  force  the  issue  on  the  North."  In  this  design,  at 
length,  when  he  had  been  ten  years  in  the  grave,  he  succeeded. 
Had  there  been  no  Calhoun,  it  is  possible  —  nay,  it  is  not  im- 
probable—  that  that  issue  might  have  been  deferred  till  the 
North  had  so  outstripped  the  South  in  accumulating  all  the  ele- 
ments of  power,  that  the  fire-eaters  themselves  would  have  shrunk 
from  submitting  the  question  to  the  arbitrament  of  the  sword.  It 
was  Calhoun  who  forced  tho  issue  upon  the  United  States,  and 
compelled  us  to  choose  between  annihilation  and  war. 


JOHN   RANDOLPH 


JOHN    BA.NDOLPH. 


IN  June,  1861,  Dr.  Russell,  the  correspondent  of  the  London 
Times,  was  ascending  the  Mississippi  in  a  steamboat,  on  board 
of  which  was  a  body  of  Confederate  troops,  several  of  whom  were 
sick,  and  lay  along  the  deck  helpless.  Being  an  old  campaigner, 
he  had  his  medicine-chest  with  him,  and  he  was  thus  enabled  to 
administer  to  these  men  the  medicines  which  he  supposed  their 
cases  required.  One  huge  fellow,  attenuated  to  a  skeleton  by 
dysentery,  who  appears  to  have  been  aware  of  his  benefactor's 
connection  with  the  press,  gasped  out  these  words :  "  Stranger, 
remember,  if  I  die,  that  I  am  Robert  Tallon  of  Tishimingo 
County,  and  that  I  died  for  States'  Rights.  See,  now,  they  put 
that  in  the  papers,  won't  you  ?  Robert  Tallon  died  for  States' 
Rights."  Having  thus  spoken,  he  turned  over  on  his  blanket, 
and  was  silent.  Dr.  Russell  assures  his  readers  that  this  mail 
only  expressed  the  nearly  unanimous  feeling  of  the  Southern 
people  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war.  He  had  been  ten  weeks 
travelling  in  the  Southern  States,  and  he  declared  that  the  people 
had  but  one  battle-cry,  —  "  States'  Rights,  and  death  to  those  who 
make  war  upon  them ! "  About  the  same  time,  we  remember, 
there  was  a  paragraph  going  the  rounds  of  the  newspapers  which 
related  a  conversation  said  to  have  taken  place  between  a 
Northern  man  and  a  Southern  boy.  The  boy  happening  to  use 
the  word  "  country,"  the  Northerner  asked  him,  "  What  is  your 
country  ? "  To  which  the  boy  instantly  and  haughtily  replied, 
"  SOUTH  CAKOLINA  ! " 

Such  anecdotes  as  these  were  to  most  of  us  here  at  the  North 
a  revelation.  The  majority  of  the  Northern  people  actually  did 
not  know  of  the  existence  of  such  a  feeling  as  that  expressed  by 


176  JOHN  EANDOLPH. 

the  Carolina  boy,  nor  of  the  doctrine  enunciated  by  the  dying 
soldier.  If  every  boy  in  the  Northern  States  old  enough  to  un- 
derstand the  question  had  been  asked,  What  is  your  country  ? 
every  one  of  them,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  would  have 
quietly  answered  in  substance  thus  :  "  Why,  the  United  States,  of 
course  "  ;  —  and  the  only  feeling  excited  by  the  question  would 
have  been  one  of  surprise  that  it  should  have  been  asked.  And 
with  regard  to  that  "  battle-cry  "  of  States'  Rights,  seven  tenths 
of  the  voters  of  the  North  hardly  knew  what  a  Southern  man 
meant  when  he  pronounced  the  words.  Thus  we  presented  to 
the  world  the  curious  spectacle  of  a  people  so  ignorant  of  one 
another,  so  little  homogeneous,  that  nearly  all  on  one  side  of  an 
imaginary  line  were  willing  to  risk  their  lives  for  an  idea  which 
the  inhabitants  on  the  other  side  of  the  line  not  only  did  not 
entertain,  but  knew  nothing  about.  We  observe  something  simi- 
lar in  the  British  empire.  The  ordinary  Englishman  does  not 
know  what  it  is  of  which  Ireland  complains,  and  if  an  Irishman 
is  asked  the  name  of  his  country,  he  does  not  pronounce  any  of 
the  names  which  imply  the  merging  of  his  native  isle  in  the 
realm  of  Britain. 

Few  of  us,  even  now,  have  a  "  realizing  sense,"  as  it  is  called, 
of  the  strength  of  the  States'  Rights  feeling  among  the  Southern 
people.  Of  all  the  Southern  States  in  which  we  ever  sojourned, 
the  one  that  seemed  to  us  most  like  a  Northern  State  was  North 
Carolina.  We  stayed  some  time  at  Raleigh,  ten  years  ago, 
during  the  session  of  the  Legislature,  and  we  were  struck  with 
the  large  number  of  reasonable,  intelligent,  upright  men  who 
were  members  of  that  body.  Of  course,  we  expected  to  find 
Southern  men  all  mad  on  one  topic ;  but  in  the  Legislature  of 
North  Carolina  there  were  several  individuals  who  could  con- 
verse even  on  that  in  a  rational  and  comfortable  manner.  We 
were  a  little  surprised,  therefore,  the  other  day,  to  pick  up  at  a 
book-stall  in  Nassau  Street  a  work  entitled :  "  The  North  Caro- 
lina Reader,  Number  III.  Prepared  with  Special  Reference  to 
the  Wants  and  Interests  of  North  Carolina.  Under  the  Auspices 
of  the  Superintendent  of  Common  Schools.  Containing  Selec- 
tions in  Prose  and  Verse.  By  C.  H.  Wiley.  New  York :  A.  S. 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  177 

Barues  and  Burr."  The  acute  reader  will  at  once  surmise  that 
the  object  of  this  series  of  school  readers  was  to  instil  into  the 
minds  of  the  youfli  of  North  Carolina  a  due  regard  for  the 
sacredness  and  blessed  effects  of  our  peculiar  institution.  But 
for  once  the  acute  reader  is  mistaken.  No  such  purpose  appears, 
at  least  not  in  Number  III. ;  in  which  there  are  only  one  or  two 
even  distant  allusions  to  that  dread  subject.  Onesimus  is  not 
mentioned ;  there  is  no  reference  to  Ham,  nor  is  there  any  dis- 
course upon  long  heels  and  small  brains.  The  great,  the  only 
object  of  this  Reader  was  to  nourish  in  the  children  of  the  State 
the  feeling  which  the  boy  expressed  when  he  proudly  said  that 
his  country  was  South  Carolina.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  inno- 
cent, childlike  manner  in  which  this  design  is  carried  out  in  Num- 
ber III.  First,  the  children  are  favored  with  a  series  of  chap- 
ters descriptive  of  North  Carolina,  written  in  the  style  of  a 
school  geography,  with  an  occasional  piece  of  poetry  on  a  North 
Carolina  subject  by  a  North  Carolina  poet.  Once,  however,  the 
compiler  ventures  to  depart  from  his  plan  by  inserting  the  lines 
by  Sir  William  Jones,  "What  constitutes  a  State?"  To  this 
poem  he  appends  a  note  apologizing  for  "  breaking  the  thread  of 
his  discourse,"  upon  the  ground  that  the  lines  were  so  "  applicable 
to  the  subject,"  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  author  "  must  have  been 
lescribing  North  Carolina."  When  the  compiler  has  done  cata- 
loguing the  fisheries,  the  rivers,  the  mountains,  and  the  towns  of 
North  Carolina,  he  proceeds  to  relate  its  history  precisely  in  the 
style  of  our  school  history  books.  The  latter  half  of  the  volume 
is  chiefly  occupied  by  passages  from  speeches,  and  poems  from 
newspapers,  written  by  natives  of  North  Carolina.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  us  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  innutritiousness  and  the 
inferiority  of  most  of  these  pieces.  North  Carolina  is  the  great 
theme  of  orator  and  poet. 

"  We  live,"  says  one  of  the  legislators  quoted,  "  in  the  most  beautiful 
land  that  the  sun  of  heaven  ever  shone  upon.  Yes,  sir,  I  have  heard 
the  anecdote  from  Mr.  Clay,  that  a  preacher  in  Kentucky,  when  speak- 
ing of  the  beauties  of  paradise,  when  he  desired  to  make  his  audience 
believe  it  was  a  place  of  bliss,  said  it  was  a  Kentucky  of  a  place.  Sir, 
this  preacher  had  never  visited  the  western  counties  of  North  Carolina. 
8*  L 


178  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

I  have  spent  days  of  rapture  in  looking  at  her  scenery  of  unsurpassed 
grandeur,  in  hearing  the  roar  of  her  magnificent  waterfalls,  second  only 
to  the  great  cataract  of  the  North ;  and  while  I  gaeed  for  hours,  lost  in 
admiration  at  the  power  of  Him  who  by  his  word  created  such  a  coun- 
try, and  gratitude  for  the  blessings  He  had  scattered  upon  it,  I  thought 
that  if  Adam  and  Eve,  when  driven  from  paradise,  had  been  near  this 
land,  they  would  have  thought  themselves  in  the  next  best  place  to  that 
they  had  left." 

We  do  not  aver  that  the  contents  of  this  collection  are  gen- 
erally as  ludicrous  as  this  specimen  ;  but  we  do  say  that  the  pas- 
sage quoted  gives  a  very  fair  idea  of  the  spirit  and  quality  of  the 
book.  There  is  scarcely  one  of  the  North  Carolina  pieces  which 
a  Northern  man  would  not  for  one  reason  or  another  find  ex- 
tremely comic.  One  of  the  reading  lessons  is  a  note  written  fif 
teen  years  ago  by  Solon  Robinson,  the  agricultural  editor  of  the 
Tribune,  upon  the  use  of  the  long  leaves  of  the  North  Carolina 
pine  for  braiding  or  basket-work ;  another  is  a  note  written  to 
accompany  a  bunch  of  North  Carolina  grapes  sent  to  an  editor ; 
and  there  are  many  other  newspaper  cuttings  of  a  similar  char- 
acter. The  editor  seems  to  have  thought  nothing  too  trivial, 
nothing  too  ephemeral,  for  his  purpose,  provided  the  passage 
contained  the  name  of  his  beloved  State. 

How  strange  all  this  appears  to^a  Northern  mind  !  Every- 
where else  in  Christendom,  teachers  strive  to  enlarge  the  mental 
range  of  their  pupils,  readily  assenting  to  Voltaire's  well-known 
definition  of  an  educated  man :  "  One  who  is  not  satisfied  to  sur- 
vey the  universe  from  his  parish  belfry."  Everywhere  else,  the 
intellectual  class  have  some  sense  of  the  ill-consequences  of 
"  breeding  in  and  in,"  and  take  care  to  infuse  into  their  minds  the 
vigor  of  new  ideas  and  the  nourishment  of  strange  knowledge. 
How  impossible  for  a  Northern  State  to  think  of  doing  what 
Alabama  did  last  winter,  pass  a  law  designed  to  limit  the  circu- 
lation in  that  State  of  Northern  newspapers  and  periodicals  ! 
What  Southern  men  mean  by  "  State  pride  "  is  really  not  known 
in  the  Northern  States.  All  men  of  every  land  are  fond  of  their 
native  place ;  but  the  pride  that  Northern  people  may  feel  in  the 
State  wherein  they  happened  to  be  bom  is  as  subordinate  tc 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  179 

their  national  feeling,  as  the  attachment  of  a  Frenchman  to  hia 
native  province  is  to  his  pride  in  France. 

Why  this  difference  ?  It  did  not  always  exist.  It  cost  New 
York  and  Massachusetts  as  severe  a  struggle  to  accept  the  Con- 
stitution of  1787  as  it  did  Virginia.  George  Clinton,  Governor 
of  New  York,  had  as  much  State  pride  as  Patrick  Henry,  orator 
of  Virginia,  and  parted  as  reluctantly  with  a  portion  of  the  sov- 
ereignty which  he  wielded.  If  it  required  Washington's  influence 
and  Madison's  persuasive  reasoning  to  bring  Virginia  into  the 
new  system,  the  repugnance  of  Massachusetts  was  only  overcome 
by  the  combined  force  of  Hancock's  social  rank  and  Samuel 
Adams's  late,  reluctant  assent. 

On  this  subject  let  us  hear  Samuel  Adams  for  a  moment  as  he 
wrote  to  a  friend  in  1788 :  — 

"  I  confess,  as  I  enter  the  building  I  stumble  at  the  threshold.  I 
meet  with  a  national  government  instead  of  a  federal  union  of  sover- 
eign states.  I  am  not  able  to  conceive  why  the  wisdom  of  the  Con- 
vention led  them  to  give  the  preference  to  the  former  before  the  latter. 
If  the  several  States  in  the  Union  are  to  be  one  entire  nation  under  one 
Legislature,  the  powers  of  which  shall  extend  to  every  subject  of  leg- 
islation, and  its  laws  be  supreme  and  control  the  whole,  the  idea  of 
sovereignty  in  these  States  must  be  lost.  Indeed,  I  think,  upon  such  a 
supposition,  those  sovereignties  ought  to  be  eradicated  from  the  mind, 
for  they  would  be  imperia  in  imperio,  justly  deemed  a  solecism  in  poli- 
tics, and  they  would  be  highly  dangerous  and  destructive  of  the  peace, 
union,  and  safety  of  the  nation. 

"  And  can  this,  National  Legislature  be  competent  to  make  laws  for 
the  free  internal  government  of  one  people,  living  in  climates  so  re- 
mote, and  whose  habits  and  particular  interests  are,  and  probably  al- 
ways will  be,  so  different  ?  Is  it  to  be  expected  that  general  laws  ca^ 
be  adapted  to  the  feelings  of  the  more  eastern  and  the  more  southert 
parts  of  so  extensive  a  nation  ?  It  appears  to  me  difficult,  if  practica- 
ble. Hence,  then,  may  we  not  look  for  discontent,  mistrust,  disaffec- 
tion to  government,  and  frequent  insurrections,  which  will  require 
standing  armies  to  suppress  them  in  one  place  and  another,  where  they 
may  happen  to  arise.  Or,  if  laws  could  be  made  adapted  to  the  local 
habits,  feelings,  views,  and  interests  of  those  distant  parts,  would  they 
not  cause  jealousies  of  partiality  in  government,  which  would  excite 
envv  and  other  malignant  passions  productive  of  wars  and  fighting  ? 


180  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

But  shoold  we  continue  distinct  sovereign  States,  confederated  for  the 
purpose  of  mutual  safety  and  happiness,  each  contributing  to  the  fed- 
eral head  such  a  part  of  its  sovereignty  as  would  render  the  govern- 
ment fully  adequate  to  those  purposes  and  no  more,  tht>  people  would 
govern  themselves  more  easily,  the  laws  of  each  State  being  well  adapt- 
ed to  its  own  genius  and  circumstances,  and  the  liberties  of  the  United 
States  would  be  more  secure  than  they  can  be,  as  I  humbly  conceive, 
ander  the  proposed  new  constitution."  —  Life  of  Samuel  Adams,  Vol. 
DDL,  p.  251. 

This  passage  is  one  of  the  large  number  in  the  writings  of  that 
ime  to  which  recent  events  have  given  a  new  interest ;  nor  is  it 
a»w  without  salutary  meaning  for  us,  though  we  quote  it  only  to 
*/ow  the  reluctance  of  some  of  the  best  citizens  of  the  North  to 
<oinv,'  iato  a  national  system.     Suppose,  to-day,  that  the  United 
Matv-s  ,vere  invited  to  merge  their  sovereignty  into  a  confedera 
•on  oi  ail  t,he  nations  of  America,  which  would  require  us  to 
.ibohsh  tne  city  of  Washington,  and  send  delegates  to  a  general 
.ongress  ou  t\re  isthmus  of  Darien  !     A  sacrifice  of  pride  like 
that  was  demanded  of  the  leading  States  of  the  Union  in  1787 
Severe  was  the  struggle,  bui  the  sacrifice  was  made,  and  it  cost 
the  great  States  of  the  Noiih  as  painful  a  throe  as  it  did  the 
great  States  of  the  South.     Why,  then,  has  State  pride  died 
away  in  the  North,  and  grown  stronger  iu  the  South  ?     Why  is 
it  only  in  the  Southern  States  that  the  doctrine  df  States'  Rights 
is  ever  heard  of?     Why  does  the  Northern  man  swell  with  na- 
tional pride,  and  point  with  exultation  to  a  flag  bearing  thirty- 
seven  stars,  feeling  the  remotest  State  to  be  as  much  his  country 
as  his  native  village,  while  the  Southern  man  contracts  to  an  ex- 
clusive love  for  a  single  State,  and  is  willing  to  die  on  its  fron- 
tiers in  repelling  from  its  sacred  soil  the  national  troops,  and  can 
see  the  flag  under  which  his  fathers  fought  torn  down  without 
regret  ? 

The  study  of  John  Randolph  of  Virginia  takes  us  to  the  heart 
of  this  mystery.  He  could  not  have  correctly  answered  the 
question  we  have  proposed,  but  he  was  an  answer  to  it.  Born 
when  George  Washington,  Thomas  Jefferson,  George  Mason,  and 
James  Madison  were  Virginia  farmers,  and  surviving  to  the  time 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  181 

when  Andrew  Jackson  was  President  of  the  United  States,  he 
lived  through  the  period  of  the  decline  of  his  race,  and  he  was  of 
that  decline  a  conscious  exemplification.  He  represented  the 
decay  of  Virginia,  himself  a  living  ruin  attesting  by  the  strength 
and  splendor  of  portions  of  it  what  a  magnificent  structure  it  was 
once.  "  Poor  old  Virginia !  Poor  old  Virginia ! "  This  was 
the  burden  of  his  cry  for  many  a  year.  Sick,  solitary,  and  half 
mad,  at  his  lonely  house  in  the  wilderness  of  Roanoke,  suffering 
from  inherited  disease,  burdened  with  inherited  debt,  limited  by 
inherited  errors,  and  severed  by  a  wall  of  inherited  prejudice 
from  the  life  of  the  modern  world,  he  stands  to  us  as  the  type  of 
the  palsied  and  dying  State.  Of  the  doctrine  of  States'  Rights 
he  was  the  most  consistent  and  persistent  champion ;  while  of 
that  feeling  which  the  North  Carolina  Reader  No.  III.  styles 
"  State  pride,"  we  may  call  him  the  very  incarnation.  "  When  I 
speak  of  my  country,"  he  would  say,  "  I  mean  the  Commonwealth 
of  Virginia."  He  was  the  first  eminent  man  in  the  Southern 
States  who  was  prepared  in  spirit  for  war  against  the  government 
of  the  United  States ;  for  during  the  Nullification  imbroglio  of 
1833,  he  not  only  was  in  the  fullest  accord  with  Calhoun,  but  he 
used  to  say,  that,  if  a  collision  took  place  between  the  nullifiers 
and  the  forces  of  the  United  States,  he,  John  Randolph  of  Roan- 
oke, old  and  sick  as  he  was,  would  have  himself  buckled  on  his 
horse,  Radical,  and  fight  for  the  South  to  his  last  breath. 

But  then  he  was  a  man  of  genius,  travel,  and  reading.  We 
find  him,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  a  conscious  witness  of  his 
Virginia's  decline.  Along  with  a  pride  in  the  Old  Dominion 
that  was  fanatical,  there  was  in  this  man's  heart  a  constant  and 
most  agonizing  sense  of  her  inferiority  to  lands  less  beloved.  By 
no  tongue  or  pen  —  not  by  Sumner's  tongue  nor  Olmstead's  pen 
—  have  more  terrible  pictures  been  drawn  of  Virginia's  lapse 
into  barbarism,  than  are  to  be  found  in  John  Randolph's  letters. 
At  a  time  (1831)  when  he  would  not  buy  a  pocket-knife  made 
in  New  England,  nor  send  a  book  to  be  bound  north  of  the  Poto- 
mac, we  find  him  writing  of  his  native  State  in  these  terms  :  — 

"  I  passed  a  night  in  Farrarville,  in  an  apartment  which,  in  England, 
tfould  not  have  been  thought  fit  for  my  servant ;  nor  on  the  Continent 


182  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

did  he  ever  jccupy  so  mean  a  one.  Wherever  I  stop  it  is  the  same . 
walls  black  and  filthy ;  bed  and  furniture  sordid ;  furniture  scanty  and 
mean,  generally  broken ;  no  mirror ;  no  fire-irons ;  in  short,  dirt  and 
discomfort  universally  prevail ;  and  in  most  private  houses  the  matter 
is  not  mended.  The  cows  milked  a  half  a  mile  off,  or  not  got  up,  and 
no  milk  to  be  had  at  any  distance,  —  no  Jordan  ;  —  in  fact,  all  the  old 
gentry  are  gone,  and  the  nouveaux  riches,  when  they  have  the  inclina- 
tion, do  not  know  how  to  live.  Biscuit,  not  half  cuit;  everything 
animal  and  vegetable  smeared  with  butter  and  lard.  Poverty  stalking 
through  the  land,  while  we  are  engaged  in  political  metaphysics,  and, 
amidst  our  filth  and  vermin,  like  the  Spaniard  and  Portuguese,  look 
down  with  contempt  on  other  nations,  —  England  and  France  espe- 
cially. We  hug  our  lousy  cloak  around  us,  take  another  chaw  of  tub- 
backer,  float  the  room  with  nastiness,  or  ruin  the  grate  and  fire-irons, 
where  they  happen  not  to  be  rusty,  and  try  conclusions  upon  constitu- 
tional points." 

What  truth  and  painting  in  this  passage!  But  if  we  had 
asked  this  suffering  genius  as  to  the  cause  of  his  "  country's  " 
decline,  he  would  have  given  us  a  mad  answer  indeed.  He 
would  have  said,  in  his  wild  way,  that  it  was  all  Tom  Jefferson's 
doing,  sir.  Tom  Jefferson  abolished  primogeniture  in  Virginia, 
and  thus,  as  John  Randolph  believed,  destroyed  the  old  families, 
the  life  and  glory  of  the  State.  Tom  Jefferson  was  unfaithful  to 
the  States'  Rights  and  strict-constructionist  creed,  of  which  he 
was  the  expounder  and  trustee,  and  thus  let  in  the  "  American 
system  "  of  Henry  Clay,  with  its  protective  tariff,  which  completed 
the  ruin  of  the  agricultural  States.  This  was  his  simple  theory 
of  the  situation.  These  were  the  reasons  why  he  despaired  of 
ever  again  seeing,  to  use  his  own  language,  "  the  Nelsons,  the 
Pages,  the  Byrds,  and  Fairfaxes,  living  in  their  palaces,  and 
driving  their  coaches  and  sixes,  or  the  good  old  Virginia  gentle- 
men in  the  Assembly  drinking  their  twenty  and  forty  bowls  of 
rack  punches,  and  madeira  and  claret,  in  lieu  of  a  knot  of  deputy 
sheriffs  and  hack  attorneys,  each  with  his  cruet  of  whiskey  before 
him,  and  puddle  of  tobacco-spittle  between  his  legs."  He  was  aa 
far  from  seeing  any  relation  of  cause  and  effect  between  the 
coaches,  palaces,  and  bowls  of  punch,  and  the  "  knot  of  deputy 
•noriffs,"  as  a  Fenian  is  from  discerning  any  connection  between 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  183 

the  Irish  rackrenting  of  the  last  century,  and  the  Irish  beggary 
of  this.  Like  conditions  produce  like  characters.  How  interest- 
ing to  discover  in  this  republican,  this  native  Virginian  of  Eng- 
lish stock,  a  perfect  and  splendid  specimen  of  a  species  of  tory 
supposed  to  exist  only  in  such  countries  as  Poland,  Spain,  Ire- 
land, and  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  but  which  in  reality  does 
abound  in  the  Southern  States  of  this  Union,  —  the  tory,  con- 
scious  of  his  country's  ruin,  but  clinging  with  fanatical  and  proud 
tenacity  to  the  principles  that  ruined  it. 

Dear  tobacco,  virgin  land,  and  cheap  negroes  gave  the  several 
families  in  Virginia,  for  three  generations,  a  showy,  delusive 
prosperity,  which  produced  a  considerable  number  of  dissolute, 
extravagant  men,  and  educated  a  few  to  a  high  degree  of  knowl- 
edge and  wisdom.  Of  these  families,  the  Randolphs  were  the 
most  numerous,  and  among  the  oldest,  richest,  and  most  in- 
fluential. The  soldiers  of  the  late  army  of  the  Potomac  know 
well  the  lands  which  produced  the  tobacco  that  maintained  them 
in  baronial  state.  It  was  on  Turkey  Island  (an  island  no  more), 
twenty  miles  below  Richmond,  close  to  Malvern  Hill  of  immortal 
memory,  that  the  founder  of  the  family  settled  in  1660,  —  a  Cav- 
alier of  ancient  Yorkshire  race  ruined  in  the  civil  wars.  Few  of 
our  troops,  perhaps,  who  rambled  over  Turkey  Bend,  were 
aware  that  the  massive  ruins  still  visible  there,  and  which  served 
as  negro  quarters  seven  years  ago,  are  the  remains  of  the  great 
and  famous  mansion  built  by  this  Cavalier,  turned  tobacco-plant- 
er. This  home  of  the  Randolphs  was  so  elaborately  splendid, 
that  a  man  served  out  the  whole  term  of  his  apprenticeship  to 
the  trade  of  carpenter  in  one  of  its  rooms.  The  lofty  dome  was 
for  many  years  a  beacon  to  the  navigator.  Such  success  had 
this  Randolph  in  raising  tobacco  during  the  fifty-one  years  of  his 
residence  upon  Turkey  Island,  that  to  each  of  his  six  sons  he 
gave  or  left  a  large  estate,  besides  portioning  liberally  his  two 
daughters.  Five  of  these  sons  reared  families,  and  the  sons  of 
those  sons  were  also  thriving  and  prolific  men ;  so  that,  in  the 
course  of  three  generations,  Virginia  was  full  of  Randolphs. 
There  was,  we  believe,  not  one  of  the  noted  controlling  families 
that  was  not  related  to  them  by  blood  or  marriage. 


184  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

In  1773,  when  John  Randolph  was  born,  the  family  was  still 
powerful ;  and  the  region  last  trodden  by  the  Army  of  the  Po- 
tomac was  still  adorned  by  the  seats  of  its  leading  members. 
Cawsons,  the  mansion  in  which  he  was  born,  was  situated  at 
the  junction  of  the  James  and  Appomattox,  in  full  view  of  City 
Point  and  Bermuda  Hundred,  and  only  an  after-breakfast  walk 
from  Dutch  Gap.  The  mansion  long  ago  disappeared,  and 
nothing  now  marks  its  site  but  negro  huts.  Many  of  those  ex- 
quisite spots  on  the  James  and  Appomattox,  which  we  have  seen 
men  pause  to  admire  while  the  shells  were  bursting  overhead, 
were  occupied  sixty  years  ago  by  the  sumptuous  abodes  of  the 
Randolphs  and  families  related  to  them.  Mattoax,  the  house  in 
which  John  Randolph  passed  much  of  his  childhood,  was  on  a 
bluff  of  the  Appomattox,  two  miles  above  Petersburg;  and 
Bizarre,  the  estate  on  which  he  spent  his  boyhood,  lay  above, 
on  both  sides  of  the  same  river.  Over  all  that  extensive  and  en- 
chanting region,  trampled  and  torn  and  laid  waste  by  hostile 
armies  in  1864  and  1865,  John  Randolph  rode  and  hunted  from 
the  time  he  could  sit  a  pony  and  handle  a  gun.  Not  a  vestige 
remains  of  the  opulence  and  splendor  of  his  early  days.  Not  one 
of  the  mansions  inhabited  or  visited  by  him  in  his  youth  fur- 
nished a  target  for  our  cannoneers  or  plunder  for  our  camps.  A 
country  better  adapted  to  all  good  purposes  of  man,  nor  one 
more  pleasing  to  the  eye,  hardly  exists  on  earth ;  but  .before  it 
was  trodden  by  armies,  it  had  become  little  less  than  desolate. 
The  James  River  is  as  navigable  as  the  Hudson,  and  flows 
through  a  region  far  more  fertile,  longer  settled,  more  inviting, 
and  of  more  genial  climate ;  but  there  are  upon  the  Hudson's 
banks  more  cities  than  there  are  rotten  landings  upon  the  James. 
The  shores  of  this  beautiful  and  classic  stream  are  so  unexpect- 
edly void  of  even  the  signs  of  human  habitation,  that  our  soldiers 
•were  often  ready  to  exclaim :  "  Can  this  be  the  river  of  Captain 
John  Smith  and  Pocahontas?  Was  it  here  that  Jamestown 
stood  ?  Is  it  possible  that  white  men  have  lived  in  this  delight- 
ful land  for  two  hundred  and  fifty-seven  years  ?  Or  has  not  the 
captain  of  the  steamboat  made  a  mistake,  and  turned  into  tho 
wrong  river?" 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  185 

One  scene  of  John  Randolph's  boyhood  reveals  to  us  the  entire 
political  economy  of  the  Old  Dominion.  He  used  to  relate  it 
himself,  when  denouncing  the  manufacturing  system  of  Henry 
Clay.  One  ship,  he  would  say,  sufficed,  in  those  happy  days,  for 
all  the  commerce  of  that  part  of  Virginia  with  the  Old  World, 
and  that  ship  was  named  the  London  Trader.  When  this  ship 
was  about  to  sail,  all  the  family  were  called  together,  and  each 
member  was  invited  to  mention  the  articles  which  he  or  she 
wanted  from  London.  First,  the  mother  of  the  family  gave  in 
her  list ;  next  the  children,  in  the  order  of  their  ages  ;  next,  the 
overseer ;  then  the  mammy,  the  children's  black  nurse ;  lastly,  the 
house  servants,  according  to  their  rank,  down  even  to  their  chil- 
dren. When  months  had  passed,  and  the  time  for  the  ship's  return 
was  at  hand,  the  weeks,  the  days,  the  hours  were  counted ;  and 
when  the  signal  was  at  last  descried,  the  whole  household  burst 
into  exclamations  of  delight,  and  there  was  festival  in  the  family 
for  many  days. 

How  picturesque  and  interesting!  How  satisfactory  to  the 
tory  mind  !  But  alas !  this  system  of  exhausting  the  soil  in  the 
production  of  tobacco  by  the  labor  of  slaves,  and  sending  for  all 
manufactured  articles  to  England,  was  more  ruinous  even  than  it 
was  picturesque.  No  middle  class  could  exist,  as  in  England,  to 
supply  the  waste  of  aristocratic  blood  and  means  ;  and  in  three 
generations,  rich  and  beautiful  Virginia,  created  for  empire,  was 
only  another  Ireland.  But  it  was  a  picturesque  system  and  John 
Randolph,  poet  and  tory,  revelled  in  the  recollection  of  it.  "  Our 
Egyptian  taskmasters,"  he  would  say,  meaning  the  manufacturers 
of  Pennsylvania,  New  York,  New  Jersey,  and  New  England, 
"  only  wisn  to  leave  us  the  recollection  of  past  times,  and  insist 
upon  our  purchasing  their  vile  domestic  stuffs  ;  but  it  won't  do : 
no  wooden  nutmegs  for  old  Virginia." 

His  own  pecuniary  history  was  an  illustration  of  the  working 
of  the  system.  His  father  left  forty  thousand  acres  of  the  best 
land  in  the  world,  and  several  hundred  slaves,  to  his  three  boys ; 
the  greater  part  of  which  property,  by  the  early  death  of  the  two 
elder  brothers,  fell  to  John.  As  the  father  died  when  John  was 
but  three  years  old,  there  was  a  minority  of  eighteen  years,  dur- 


186  JOHN  EANDOLPh. 

ing  which  the  boy's  portion  should  have  greatly  increased.  So 
far  from  increasing,  an  old  debt  of  his  father's  —  a  London  debt, 
incurred  for  goods  brought  to  a  joyous  household  in  the  London 
Trader  —  remained  undiminished  at  his  coming  of  age,  and  hung 
about  his  neck  for  many  years  afterward.  Working  two  large 
estates,  with  a  force  of  negroes  equivalent  to  one  hundred  and  eigh- 
ty full  field  hands,  he  could  not  afford  himself  the  luxury  of  a  trip 
to  Europe  until  he  was  fifty  years  old.  The  amount  of  this  debt 
we  do  not  know,  but  he  says  enough  about  it  for  us  to  infer  that 
it  was  not  of  very  large  amount  in  comparison  with  his  great  re- 
sources. One  hundred  and  eighty  stalwart  negroes  working  the 
best  land  in  the  world,  under  a  man  so  keen  and  vigilant  as  this 
last  of  the  noble  Randolphs,  and  yet  making  scarcely  any  head- 
way for  a  quarter  of  a  century  ! 

The  blood  of  this  fine  breed  of  men  was  also  running  low. 
Both  the  parents  of  John  Randolph  and  both  of  his  brothers  died 
young,  and  he  himself  inherited  weakness  which  early  developed 
into  disease.  One  of  his  half-brothers  died  a  madman.  "  My 
whole  name  and  race,"  he  would  say,  "  lie  under  a  curse.  I  feel 
the  curse  clinging  to  me."  He  was  a  fair,  delicate  child,  more 
like  a  girl  than  a  boy,  and  more  inclined,  as  a  child,  to  the  sports 
of  girls  than  of  boys.  His  mother,  a  fond,  tender,  gentle  lady, 
nourished  his  softer  qualities,. powerless  to  govern  him,  and  prob- 
ably never  attempting  it.  Nevertheless,  he  was  no  girl ;  he  was 
a  genuine  son  of  the  South.  Such  was  the  violence  of  his  pas- 
sions, that,  before  he  was  four  years  old,  he  sometimes  in  a  fit  of 
anger  fell  senseless  upon  the  floor,  and  was  restored  only  after 
much  effort.  His  step-father,  who  was  an  honorable  man,  seems 
never  to  have  attempted  either  to  control  his  passions  or  develop 
his  intellect.  He  grew  up,  as  many  boys  of  Virginia  did,  and 
do,  unchecked,  unguided,  untrained.  Turned  loose  in  a  miscel- 
laneous library,  nearly  every  book  he  read  tended  to  intensify  his 
feelings  or  inflame  his  imagination.  His  first  book  was  Voltaire's 
Charles  XII.,  and  a  better  book  for  a  boy  has  never  been  writ- 
ten. Then  he  fell  upon  the  Spectator.  Before  he  was  twelve 
he  had  read  the  Arabian  Nights,  Orlando,  Robinson  Crusoe, 
Smollett's  Works,  Reynard  the  Fox,  Don  Quixote,  Gil  Bias, 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  187 

Tom  Jones,  Gulliver,  Shakespeare,  Plutarch's  Lives,  Pope's 
Homer,  Goldsmith's  Rome,  Percy's  Reliques,  Thomson's  Sea- 
sons, Young,  Gray,  and  Chatterton,  —  a  gallon  of  sack  to  a  pen- 
ny's worth  of  bread.  A  good  steady  drill  in  arithmetic,  geogra- 
phy, and  language  might  have  given  his  understanding  a  chance  ; 
but  this  ill-starred  boy  never  had  a  steady  drill  in  anything.  .  He 
never  remained  longer  at  any  one  school  than  a  year,  and  he 
learned  at  school  very  little  that  he  needed  most  to  know.  In 
the  course  of  his  desultory  schooling  he  picked  up  some  Latin,  a 
little  Greek,  a  good  deal  of  French,  and  an  inconceivable  medley 
of  odds  and  ends  of  knowledge,  which  his  wonderful  memory 
enabled  him  to  use  sometimes  with  startling  effect. 

Everywhere  else,  in  the  whole  world,  children  are  taught  that 
virtue  is  self-control.  In  the  Southern  States,  among  these 
tobacco-lords,  boys  learned  just  the  opposite  lesson,  —  that  virtue 
is  self-indulgence.  This  particular  youth,  thin-skinned,  full  of 
talent,  fire,  and  passion,  the  heir  to  a  large  estate,  fatherless, 
would  have  been  in  danger  anywhere  of  growing  up  untrained, 
—  a  wild  beast  in  broadcloth.  In  the  Virginia  of  that  day,  in  the 
circle  in  which  he  lived,  there  was  nothing  for  him  in  the  way 
either  of  curb  or  spur.  He  did  what  he  pleased,  and  nothing 
else.  All  that  was  noble  in  his  life,  —  those  bursts  of  really  fine 
Dratory,  his  flashes  of  good  sense,  his  occasional  generosities,  his 
hatred  of  debt,  and  his  eager  haste  to  pay  it,  —  all  these  things 
were  due  to  the  original  excellence  of  his  race.  In  the  very 
dregs  of  good  wine  there  is  flavor.  "We  cannot  make  even  good 
vinegar  out  of  a  low  quality  of  wine. 

His  gentle  mother  taught  him  all  the  political  economy  he  ever 
took  to  heart.  "  Johnny,"  said  she  to  him  one  day,  when  they 
had  reached  a  point  in  their  ride  that  commanded  an  extensive 
view,  "  all  this  land  belongs  to  you  and  your  brother.  It  is  your 
father's  inheritance.  When  you  get  to  be  a  man,  you  must  not 
sell  your  land :  it  is  the  first  step  to  ruin  for  a  boy  to  part  with 
his  father's  home.  Be  sure  to  keep  it  as  long  as  you  live.  Keep 
your  land,  and  your  land  will  keep  you."  There  never  came  a 
time  when  his  mind  was  mature  and  masculine  enough  to  con- 
sider this  advice.  He  clung  to  his  land  as  Charles  Stuart  clung 
to  his  prerogative. 


188  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

All  the  early  life  of  this  youth  was  wandering  and  desultory 
At  fourteen,  we  find  him  at  Princeton  College  in  New  Jersey, 
where,  we  are  told,  he  fought  a  duel,  exchanged  shots  twice  with 
his  adversary,  and  put  a  ball  into  his  body  which  he  carried  all  his 
life.  By  this  time,  too,  the  precocious  and  ungovernable  boy  had 
become,  as  he  flattered  himself,  a  complete  atheist.  One  of  his 
favorite  amusements  at  Princeton  was  to  burlesque  the  precise 
and  perhaps  ungraceful  Presbyterians  of  the  place.  The  library 
of  his  Virginian  home,  it  appears,  was  furnished  with  a  great 
supply  of  what  the  French  mildly  call  the  literature  of  incredu- 
lity, —  Helvetius,  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  Diderot,  D'Alembert,  and 
the  rest.  The  boy,  in  his  rage  for  knowledge,  had  read  vast 
quantities  of  this  literature,  and,  of  course,  embraced  the  theory 
of  the  writers  that  pushed  denial  farthest.  For  twenty-two  years, 
he  says  in  one  of  his  letters,  he  never  entered  a  church.  Great 
pleasure  it  gave  him  to  show  how  superior  the  Mahometan  re- 
ligion was  to  the  Christian,  and  to  recite  specimens  of  what  he 
took  delight  in  styling  Hebrew  jargon.  The  Psalms  of  David 
were  his  special  aversion. 

Almost  all  gifted  and  fearless  lads  that  have  lived  in  Christen- 
dom during  the  last  hundred  years  have  had  a  fit  of  this  kind  be- 
tween fifteen  and  twenty-five.  The  strength  of  the  tendency  to 
question  the  grounds  of  belief  must  be  great  indeed  to  bear  away 
with  it  a  youth  like  this,  formed  by  Nature  to  believe.  John 
Randolph  had  no  more  intellectual  right  to  be  a  sceptic,  than  he 
had  a  moral  right  to  be  a  republican.  A  person  whose  imagina- 
tion is  quick  and  warm,  whose  feelings  are  acute,  and  whose  in- 
tellect is  wholly  untrained,  can  find  no  comfort  except  in  belief. 
His  scepticism  is  a  mere  freak  of  vanity  or  self-will.  Coming 
upon  the  stage  of  life  when  unbelief  was  fashionable  in  high 
drawing-rooms,  he  became  a  sceptic.  But  Nature  will  have  her 
way  with  us  all,  and  so  this  atheist  at  fifteen  was  an  Evangelical 
at  forty-five. 

His  first  political  bias  was  equally  at  war  with  his  nature. 
John  Randolph  was  wholly  a  tory ;  there  was  not  in  his  whole 
composition  one  republican  atom.  But  coming  early  under  the 
direct  personal  influence  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  whose  every  fibre 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  189 

was  republican,  he,  too,  the  sympathetic  tory  of  genius,  espoused 
the  people's  cause.  He  was  less  than  twenty-two  years,  however, 
in  recovering  from  this  false  tendency. 

Summoned  from  Princeton,  after  only  a  few  months'  residence, 
by  the  death  of  his  mother,  he  went  next  to  Columbia  College, 
in  the  city  of  New  York,  where  for  a  year  or  two  he  read  Greek 
with  a  tutor,  especially  Demosthenes.  At  New  York  he  saw  the 
first  Congress  under  the  new  Constitution  assemble,  and  was  one 
of  the  concourse  that  witnessed  the  scene  of  General  Washing- 
ton's taking  the  oath  on  the  balcony  of  the  old  City  Hall.  Ii 
seemed  to  this  Virginia  boy  natural  enough  that  a  Virginian 
should  be  at  the  head  of  the  government ;  not  so,  that  a  Yankee 
should  hold  the  second  place  and  preside  over  the  Senate.  Forty 
years  after,  he  recalled  with  bitterness  a  -trifling  incident,  which, 
trifling  as  it  was,  appears  to  have  been  the  origin  of  his  intense 
antipathy  to  all  of  the  blood  of  John  Adams.  The  coachman  of 
the  Vice-President,  it  seems,  told  the  brother  of  this  little  repub- 
lican tory  to  stand  back ;  or,  as  the  orator  stated  it,  forty  years 
after,  "  I  remember  the  manner  in  which  my  brother  was  spurned 
by  the  coachman  of  the  Vice-President  for  coming  too  near  the 
arms  emblazoned  on  the  vice-regal  carriage." 

Boy  as  he  was,  he  had  already  taken  sides  with  those  who 
opposed  the  Constitution.  The  real  ground  of  his  opposition  to 
it  was,  that  it  reduced  the  importance  of  Virginia,  —  great  Vir- 
ginia! Under  the  new  Constitution,  there  was  a  man  on  the 
Western  Continent  of  more  consequence  than  the  Governor  of 
Virginia,  there  were  legislative  bodies  more  powerful  than  the 
Legislature  of  Virginia.  This  was  the  secret  of  the  disgust  with 
which  he  heard  it  proposed  to  style  the  President  "  His  High- 
ness "  and  ''  His  Majesty."  This  was  the  reason  why  it  kindled 
his  ire  to  read,  in  the  newspapers  of  1789,  that  "  the  most  honor- 
able Rufus  King  "  had  been  elected  Senator.  It  was  only  Jef- 
ferson and  a  very  few  other  of  the  grand  Virginians  who  objected 
for  higher  and  larger  reasons. 

In  March,  1790,  Mr.  Jefferson  reached  New  York,  after  his 
return  from  France,  and  entered  upon  his  new  office  of  Secretary 
of  State  under  General  Washington.  He  was  a  distant  relative 


190  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

of  our  precocious  student,  then  seventeen  years  of  age ;  and  the 
two  families  had  just  been  brought  nearer  together  by  the  mar- 
riage of  one  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  daughters  to  a  Randolph.  The 
reaction  against  republican  principles  was  at  full  tide ;  and  no 
one  will  ever  know  to  what  lengths  it  would  have  gone,  had  not 
Thomas  Jefferson  so  opportunely  come  upon  the  scene.  At  his 
modest  abode,  No.  57  Maiden  Lane,  the  two  Randolph  lads  — 
John,  seventeen,  Theodorick,  nineteen  —  were  frequent  visitors. 
Theodorick  was  a  roistering  blade,  much  opposed  to  his  younger 
brother's  reading  habits,  caring  himself  for  nothing  but  pleasure. 
John  was  an  eager  politician.  During  the  whole  period  of  the 
reaction,  first  at  New  York,  afterward  at  Philadelphia,  finally  in 
Virginia,  John  Randolph  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  great  Democrat 
of  America,  fascinated  by  his  conversation,  and  generally  con- 
vinced by  his  reasoning.  It  is  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose 
that  he  was  a  blind  follower  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  even  then.  On  the 
question  of  States'  Rights,  he  was  in  the  most  perfect  accord  with 
him.  But  when,  in  1791,  the  eyes  of  all  intelligent  America 
were  fixed  upon  the  two  combatants,  Edmund  Burke  and  Thomas 
Paine,  Burke  condemning,  Paine  defending,  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, the  inherited  instincts  of  John  Randolph  asserted  themselves, 
and  he  gave  all  his  heart  to  Burke.  Lord  Chatham  and  Edmund 
Burke  were  the  men  who  always  held  the  first  place  in  the  esteem 
of  this  kindred  spirit.  Mr.  Jefferson,  of  course,  sympathized  with 
the  view  of  his  friend  Paine,  and  never  wavered  in  his  belief 
that  the  French  Revolution  was  necessary  and  beneficial.  A 
generous  and  gifted  nation  strangled,  moved  him  to  deeper  com- 
passion than  a  class  proscribed.  He  dwelt  more  upon  the  long 
and  bitter  provocation,  than  upon  the  brief  frenzy  which  was  only 
one  of  its  dire  results.  Louis  XIV.  and  Louis  XV.,  picturesque 
as  they  were,  excited  within  him  a  profounder  horror  than  ugly 
Marat  and  Robespierre.  He  pitied  haggard,  distracted  France 
more  than  graceful  and  high-bred  Marie  Antoinette.  In  other 
words,  he  was  not  a  tory. 

There  was  a  difference,  too,  between  Mr.  Jefferson  and  his 
joung  kinsman  on  the  points  upon  which  they  agreed.  Jefferson 
was  a  States'  Rights  man,  and  a  strict  constructionist,  because  he 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  193 

was  a  republican  ;  Randolph,  because  he  was  a  Virginian.  Jef- 
ferson thought  the  government  should  be  small,  that  the  people 
might  be  great ;  John  Randolph  thought  the  government  should 
be  small,  that  Virginia  might  be  great.  Pride  in  Virginia 
was  John  Randolph's  ruling  passion,  not  less  in  1790  than 
in  1828.  The  welfare  and  dignity  of  man  were  the  darling 
objects  of  Thomas  Jefferson's  great  soul,  from  youth  to  hoary 
age. 

Here  we  have  the  explanation  of  the  great  puzzle  of  American 
politics,  —  the  unnatural  alliance,  for  sixty  years,  between  the 
plantation  lords  of  the  South  and  the  democracy  of  the  North, 
both  venerating  the  name  of  Jefferson,  and  both  professing  his 
principles.  It  was  not,  as  many  suppose,  a  compact  of  scurvy 
politicians  for  the  sake  of  political  victory.  Every  great  party, 
whether  religious  or  political,  that  has  held  power  long  in  a  coun- 
try, has  been  founded  upon  conviction, —  disinterested  conviction. 
Some  of  the  cotton  and  tobacco  lords,  men  of  intellect  and  cul- 
ture, were  democrats  and  abolitionists,  like  Jefferson  himself. 
Others  took  up  with  republicanism  because  it  was  the  reigning 
affectation  in  their  circle,  as  it  was  in  the  chateaux  and  drawing- 
rooms  of  France.  But  their  State  pride  it  was  that  bound  them 
as  a  class  to  the  early  Republican  party.  The  Southern  aristo- 
crat saw  in  Jefferson  the  defender  of  the  sovereignty  of  his  State  : 
the  "  smutched  artificer  "  of  the  North  gloried  in  Jefferson  as  the 
champion  of  the  rights  of  man.  While  the  Republican  party  was 
in  opposition,  battling  with  unmanageable  John  Adams,  with  Brit- 
ish Hamilton,  and  with  a  foe  more  powerful  than  both  of  those 
men  together,  Robespierre,  —  while  it  had  to  contend  with  Wash- 
ington's all  but  irresistible  influence,  and  with  the  nearly  unani- 
mous opposition  of  educated  and  orthodox  New  England,  —  this 
distinction  was  not  felt.  Many  a  tobacco  aristocrat  cut  off  his 
pig-tail  and  wore  trousers  down  to  his  ankles,  which  were  then 
the  outward  signs  of  the  inward  democratic  grace.  But  time 
tries  all.  It  is  now  apparent  to  every  one  that  the  strengtl  i  of  the 
original  Democratic  party  in  the  South  was  the  States'  Rights 
portion  of  its  platform,  while  in  the  North  it  was  the  sentimenl 
of  republicanism  that  kept  the  party  together 


192  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

Young  politicians  should  study  this  period  of  their  country's 
history.  If  ever  again  a  political  party  shall  rule  the  United 
States  for  sixty  years,  or  for  twenty  years,  it  will  be,  we  think,  a 
party  resembling  the  original  Republican  party,  as  founded  in 
America  by  Franklin,  and  organized  under  Jefferson.  Its  plat- 
form will  be,  perhaps,  something  like  this  :  simple,  economical 
government  machinery ;  strict  construction  of  the  Constitution ; 
the  rights  of  the  States  scrupulously  observed ;  the  suffrage  open 
to  all,  without  regard  to  color  or  sex,  —  open  to  all,  but  conferred 
only  upon  men  and  women  capable  of  exercising  it. 

John  Randolph  agreed  upon  another  point  with  Mr.  Jefferson 
he  was  an  abolitionist.  But  for  the  English  debt  which  he  in- 
herited, it  is  extremely  probable  that  he  would  have  followed  the 
example  of  many  of  the  best  Virginians  of  his  day,  and  emanci- 
pated his  slaves.  He  would,  perhaps,  have  done  so  when  that 
debt  was  discharged,  instead  of  waiting  to  do  it  by  his  last  will, 
but  for  the  forlorn  condition  of  freedmen  in  a  Slave  State.  His 
eldest  brother  wrote,  upon  the  division  of  the  estate,  in  1794:  "1 
want  not  a  single  negro  for  any  other  purpose  than  his  immediate 
emancipation.  I  shudder  when  I  think  that  such  an  insignificant 
animal  as  I  am  is  invested  with  this  monstrous,  this  horrid  pow- 
er." He  told  his  guardian  that  he  would  give  up  all  his  land 
rather  than  own  a  slave.  There  was  no  moment  in  the  whole  life 
of  John  Randolph  when  he  did  not  sympathize  with  this  view  of 
slavery,  and  he  died  expressing  it.  But  though  he  was,  if  possi- 
ble, a  more  decided  abolitionist  than  Jefferson,  he  never  for  a 
moment  doubted  the  innate  superiority  of  a  Virginia  gentleman  to 
all  the  other  inhabitants  of  America.  He  had  not  even  the  com- 
plaisance to  take  his  hair  out  of  queue,  nor  hide  his  thin  legs  in 
pantaloons.  He  was  not  endowed  by  nature  with  understanding 
enough  to  rise  superior  to  the  prejudices  that  had  come  down  to 
him  through  generations  of  aristocrats.  He  was  weak  enough, 
indeed,  to  be  extremely  vain  of  the  fact  that  a  grandfather  of  his 
had  married  one  of  the  great-granddaughters  of  Pocahontas,  who, 
it  was  believed,  performed  the  act  that  renders  her  famous  at 
Point  of  Rocks  on  the  Appomattox,  within  walking  distance  of 
one  of  the  Randolph  mansions.  It  is  interesting  to  observe  what 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  193 

an  unquestioning,  childlike  faith  he  always  had  in  the  superiority 
of  his  caste,  of  his  State,  and  of  his  section.  He  once  got  so  far 
as  to  speak  favorably  of  the  talents  of  Daniel  Webster ;  but  he 
was  obliged  to  conclude  by  saying  that  he  was  the  best  debater 
he  had  ever  known  north  of  the  Potomac. 

This  singular  being  was  twenty-six  years  of  age  before  any 
one  suspected,  least  of  all  himself,  that  he  possessed  any  of  the 
talents  which  command  the  attention  of  men.  His  life  had  been 
desultory  and  purposeless.  He  had  studied  law  a  little,  attended 
a  course  or  two  of  medical  lectures,  travelled  somewhat,  dipped 
into  hundreds  of  books,  read  a  few  with  passionate  admiration, 
had  lived  much  with  the  ablest  men  of  that  day,  —  a  familiar 
guest  at  Jefferson's  fireside,  and  no  stranger  at  President  Wash- 
ington's stately  table.  Father,  mother,  and  both  brothers  were 
dead.  He  was  lonely,  sad,  and  heavily  burdened  with  property, 
with  debt,  and  the  care  of  many  dependants.  His  appearance 
was  even  more  singular  than  his  situation.  At  twenty-three  he 
had  still  the  aspect  of  a  boy.  He  actually  grew  half  a  head 
after  he  was  twenty-three  years  of  age.  "  A  tall,  gawky-looking, 
flaxen-haired  stripling,  apparently  of  the  age  of  sixteen  or 
eighteen,  with  complexion  of  a  good  parchment  color,  beardless 
chin,  and  as  much  assumed  self-consequence  as  any  two-footed 
animal  I  ever  saw."  So  he  was  described  by  a  Charleston  book- 
seller, who  saw  him  in  his  store  in  1796,  carelessly  turning  over 
books.  "  At  length,"  continues  this  narrator,  "  he  hit  upon  some- 
thing that  struck  his  fancy ;  and  never  did  I  witness  so  sudden, 
so  perfect  a  change  of  the  human  countenance.  That  which  was 
before  dull  and  heavy  in  a  moment  became  animated,  and  flashed 
with  the  brightest  beams  of  intellect.  He  stepped  up  to  the  old 
gray-headed  gentleman  (his  companion),  and  giving  him  a  thun- 
dering slap  on  the  shoulder,  said,  '  Jack,  look  at  this ! ' *  Thus 
was  he  described  at  twenty-three.  At  twenty-six  he  was  half  a 
head  taller,  and  quite  as  slender  as  before.  His  light  hair  was 
then  combed  back  into  an  elegant  queue.  His  eye  of  hazel  was 
bright  and  restless.  His  chin  was  stiL  beardless.  He  wore  a 
frock-coat  of  light  blue  cloth,  yellow  breeches,  silk  stockings,  and 
top-boots.  Great  was  the  love  he  bore  his  horses,  which  were 
9  x 


194  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

numerous,  and  as  good  as  Virginia  could  boast.  It  is  amusing  to 
notice  that  the  horse  upon  which  this  pattern  aristocrat  used  to 
scamper  across  the  country,  in  French-Revolution  times,  was 
named  Jacobin  ! 

It  was  in  March,  1799,  the  year  before  the  final  victory  of  the 
Republicans  over  the  Federal  party,  that  the  neighbors  of  John 
Randolph  and  John  Randolph  himself  discovered,  to  their  great 
astonishment,  that  he  was  an  orator.  He  had  been  nominated 
for  Representative  in  Congress.  Patrick  Henry,  aged  and  in- 
firm, had  been  so  adroitly  manipulated  by  the  Federalists,  that  he 
had  at  length  agreed  to  speak  to  the  people  in  support  of  the 
hateful  administration  of  John  Adams.  John  Randolph,  who  had 
never  in  his  life  addressed  an  audience,  nor,  as  he  afterwards 
declared,  had  ever  imagined  that  he  could  do  so,  suddenly  deter- 
mined, the  very  evening  before  the  day  named  for  the  meeting, 
to  reply  to  Patrick  Henry.  It  was  an  open-air  meeting.  No 
structure  in  Virginia  could  have  contained  the  multitude  that 
thronged  to  hear  the  transcendent  orator,  silent  for  so  many 
years,  and  now  summoned  from  his  retirement  by  General  Wash- 
ington himself  to  speak  for  a  Union  imperilled  and  a  government 
assailed.  He  spoke  with  the  power  of  other  days,  for  he  was 
really  alarmed  for  his  country ;  and  when  he  had  finished  his  im- 
passioned harangue,  he  sunk  back  into  the  arms  of  his  friends,  as 
one  of  them  said,  "  like  the  sun  setting  in  his  glory."  For  the 
moment  he  had  all  hearts  with  him.  The  sturdiest  Republican 
in  Virginia  could  scarcely  resist  the  spell  of  that  amazing  oratory. 

John  Randolph  rose  to  reply.  His  first  sentences  showed  not 
only  that  he  could  speak,  but  that  he  knew  the  artifices  of  an  old 
debater ;  for  he  began  by  giving  eloquent  expression  to  the  vene- 
ration felt  by  his  hearers  for  the  aged  patriot  who  had  just  ad- 
dressed them.  He  spoke  for  three  hours,  it  is  said ;  and  if  we 
may  judge  from  the  imperfect  outline  of  his  speech  that  has  come 
down  to  us,  he  spoke  as  well  that  day  as  ever  he  did.  States' 
Rights  was  the  burden  of  his  speech.  That  the  Alien  and  Sedi- 
tion Law  was  an  outrage  upon  human  nature,  he  may  have  be- 
lieved ;  but  what  he  felt  was,  that  it  was  an  outrage  upon  the 
Commonwealth  of  Virginia.  He  may  have  thought  it  desirable 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  195 

vhat  all  governments  should  confine  themselves  to  the  simple 
business  of  compelling  the  faithful  performance  of  contracts;  but 
what  he  insisted  upon  was,  that  the  exercise  by  the  government 
of  the  United  States  of  any  power  not  expressly  laid  down  in 
the  letter  of  the  Constitution  was  a  wrong  to  Virginia.  If  John 
Adams  is  right,  said  he,  in  substance,  then  Virginia  has  gained 
nothing  by  the  Revolution  but  a  change  of  masters,  — New  En- 
land  for  Old  England,  —  which  he  thought  was  not  a  change  for 
the  better. 

It  was  unnecessary,  in  the  Virginia  of  1799,  for  the  head  of  the 
house  of  Randolph  to  be  an  orator  in  order  to  secure  an  election  to 
the  House  of  Representatives.  He  was  elected,  of  course.  When 
he  came  forward  to  be  sworn  in,  his  appearance  was  so  youthful, 
that  the  Clerk  of  the  House  asked  him,  with  the  utmost  polite- 
ness, whether  he  had  attained  the  legal  age.  His  reply  was  emi- 
nently characteristic  of  the  tobacco  lord :  "  Go,  sir,  and  ask  my 
constituents :  they  sent  me  here."  As  there  was  no  one  present 
authorized  by  the  Constitution  to  box  the  ears  of  impudent  boys 
on  the  floor  of  the  House,  he  was  sworn  without  further  question. 
It  has  often  occurred  to  us  that  this  anecdote,  which  John  Ran- 
dolph used  to  relate  with  much  satisfaction,  was  typical  of  much 
that  has  since  occurred.  The  excessive  courtesy  of  the  officer, 
the  insolence  of  the  Virginia  tobacconist,  the  submission  of  the 
Clerk  to  that  insolence,  —  who  has  not  witnessed  such  scenes  in 
the  Capitol  at  Washington  ? 

It  was  in  December,  1799,  that  this  fiery  and  erratic  genius 
took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Representatives.  John  Adams  had 
still  sixteen  months  to  serve  as  target  for  the  sarcasm  of  the 
young  talent  of  the  nation.  To  calm  readers  of  the  present  day, 
Mr.  Adams  does  really  seem  a  strange  personage  to  preside  over 
a  government;  but  the  calm  reader  of  the  present  day  cannot 
realize  the  state  of  things  in  the  year  1800.  We  cannot  conceive 
what  a  fright  the  world  had  had  in  the  excesses  of  the  French 
Revolution,  and  the  recent  usurpation  of  General  Bonaparte. 
France  had  made  almost  every  timid  man  in  Christendom  a  tory. 
Serious  and  respectable  people,  above  forty,  and  enjoying  a  com- 
fortable income,  felt  that  there  was  only  one  thing  left  for  a  de- 


196  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

cent  person  to  do,  —  to  assist  in  preserving  the  authority  of  gov- 
ernment. John  Adams,  by  the  constitution  of  his  mind,  was  as 
much  a  tory  as  John  Randolph ;  for  he  too  possessed  imagination 
and  talent  disproportioned  to  his  understanding.  To  be  a  demo- 
crat it  is  necessary  to  have  a  little  puje  intellect ;  since  your  dem-  ' 
ocrat  is  merely  a  person  who  can,  occasionally,  see  things  and 
men  as  they  are.  New  England  will  always  be  democratic 
enough  as  long  as  her  boys  learn  mental  arithmetic ;  and  Ireland 
will  always  be  the  haunt  of  tories  as  long  as  her  children  are 
brought  up  upon  songs,  legends,  and  ceremonies.  To  make  a  dem- 
ocratic people,  it  is  only  necessary  to  accustom  them  to  use  their 
minds. 

Nothing  throws  such  light  upon  the  state  of  things  in  the 
United  States  in  1800,  as  the  once  famous  collision  between  these 
two  natural  tories,  John  Adams  and  John  Randolph,  which  gave 
instantaneous  celebrity  to  the  new  member,  and  made  him  an  idol 
of  the  Republican  party.  In  his  maiden  speech,  which  was  in 
opposition  to  a  proposed  increase  of  the  army,  he  spoke  disparag- 
ingly of  the  troops  already  serving,  using  the  words  ragamuffins 
and  mercenaries.  In  this  passage  of  his  speech,  the  partisan 
spoke,  not  the  man.  John  Randolph  expressed  the  real  feeling 
of  his  nature  toward  soldiers,  when,  a  few  years  later,  on  the 
same  floor,  he  said :  "  If  I  must  have  a  master,  let  him  be  one  with 
epaulets ;  something  which  I  can  look  up  to ;  but  not  a  master 
with  a  quill  behind  his  ear."  In  1800,  however,  it  pleased  him 
to  style  the  soldiers  of  the  United  States  ragamuffins  and  merce- 
naries ;  which  induced  two  young  officers  to  push,  hustle,  and 
otherwise  discommode  and  insult  him  at  the  theatre.  Strange  to 
relate,  this  hot  Virginian,  usually  so  prompt  with  a  challenge  to 
mortal  combat,  reported  the  misconduct  of  these  officers  to  the 
President  of  the  United  States.  This  eminently  proper  act  he 
did  in  an  eminently  proper  manner,  thanks  to  his  transient  con- 
nection with  the  Republican  party.  Having  briefly  stated  the 
case,  he  concluded  his  letter  to  the  President  thus :  "  The  inde- 
pendence of  the  legislature  has  been  attacked,  and  the  majesty  of 
the  people,  of  which  you  are  the  principal  representative,  insulted, 
and  your  authority  contemned.  In  their  name,  I  demand  that  a 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  197 

provision  commensurate  with  the  evil  be  made,  and  which  will  be 
calculated  to  deter  others  from  any  future  attempt  to  introduce 
the  reign  of  terror  into  our  country.  In  addressing  you  in  this 
plain  language  of  man,  I  give  you,  sir,  the  best  proof  I  can  afford 
of  the  estimation  in  which  I  hold  your  office  and  your  understand- 
ing ;  and  I  assure  you  with  truth,  that  I  am,  with  respect,  your 
fellow-citizen,  John  Randolph." 

This  language  so  well  accords  with  our  present  sense  of  the 
becoming,  that  a  person  unacquainted  with  that  period  would  be 
unable  to  point  to  a  single  phrase  calculated  to  give  offence.  In 
the  year  1800,  however,  the  President  of  the  United  States  saw 
in  every  expression  of  the  letter  contemptuous  and  calculated  in- 
sult. "  The  majesty  of  the  people,"  forsooth !  The  President 
merely  their  "  representative  " !  "  plain  language  of  man  " !  and 
"  with  respect,  your  fellow-citizen  "  !  To  the  heated  imaginations 
of  the  Federalists  of  1800,  language  of  this  kind,  addressed  to 
the  President,  was  simply  prophetic  of  the  guillotine.  So  amazed 
and  indignant  was  Mr.  Adams,  that  he  submitted  the  letter  to  his 
Cabinet,  requesting  their  opinion  as  to  what  should  be  done  with 
it.  Still  more  incredible  is  it,  that  four  members  of  the  Cabinet, 
in  writing,  declared  their  opinion  to  be,  that  "  the  contemptuous 
language  therein  adopted  requires  a  public  censure."  They 
further  said,  that,  "  if  such  addresses  remain  unnoticed,  we  are 
apprehensive  that  a  precedent  will  be  established  which  must  ne- 
cessarily destroy  the  ancient,  respectable,  and  urbane  usages  of 
this  country."  Some  lingering  remains  of  good-sense  in  the  other 
member  of  the  Cabinet  prevented  the  President  from  acting 
upon  their  advice ;  and  he  merely  sent  the  letter  to  the  House, 
with  the  remark  that  he  "  submitted  the  whole  letter  and  its  ten- 
dencies "  to  their  consideration,  "  without  any  other  comments  on 
its  matter  and  style." 

This  affair,  trivial  as  it  was,  sufficed  in  that  mad  time  to  lift  the 
young  member  from  Virginia  into  universal  notoriety,  and  caused 
him  to  be  regarded  as  a  shining  light  of  the  Republican  party. 
The  splendor  of  his  talents  as  an  orator  gave  him  at  once  the  ear 
of  the  House  and  the  admiration  of  the  Republican  side  of  it ; 
while  the  fury  of  his  zeal  against  the  President  rendered  him 


198  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

most  efficient  in  the  Presidential  canvass.  No  young  man,  per- 
haps, did  more  than  he  toward  the  election  of  Jefferson  and  Burr 
in  1800.  He  was  indeed,  at  that  time,  before  disease  had  wasted 
him,  and  while  still  enjoying  the  confidence  of  the  Republican 
leaders  and  subject  to  the  needed  restraints  of  party,  a  most  effec- 
tive speaker,  whether  in  the  House  or  upon  the  stump.  He  had 
something  of  Burke's  torrent-like  fluency,  and  something  of 
Chatham's  spirit  of  command,  with  a  piercing,  audacious  sarcasm 
all  his  own.  He  was  often  unjust  and  unreasonable,  but  never 
dull.  He  never  spoke  in  his  life  without  being  at  least  atten- 
tively listened  to. 

Mr.  Jefferson  came  into  power ;  and  John  Randolph,  triumph- 
antly re-elected  to  Congress,  was  appointed  Chairman  of  the 
Committee  of  Ways  and  Means,  —  a  position  not  less  important 
then  than  now.  He  was  the  leader  of  the  Republican  majority 
in  the  House.  His  social  rank,  his  talents,  his  position  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  the  admiration  of  the  party,  the  confi- 
dence of  the  President,  all  united  to  render  him  the  chief  of  the 
young  men  of  the  young  nation.  It  was  captivating  to  the  popu- 
lar imagination  to  behold  this  heir  of  an  ancient  house,  this  pos- 
sessor of  broad  lands,  this  orator  of  genius,  belonging  to  the  party 
of  the  people.  He  aided  to  give  the  Republican  party  the  only 
element  of  power  which  it  lacked,  —  social  consideration.  The 
party  had  numbers  and  talent ;  but  it  had  not  that  which  could 
make  a  weak,  rich  man  vain  of  the  title  of  Republican.  At  the 
North,  clergy,  professors,  rich  men,  were  generally  Federalists, 
and  it  was  therefore  peculiarly  pleasing  to  Democrats  to  point  to 
this  eminent  and  brilliant  Virginian  as  a  member  of  their  party 
He  discharged  the  duties  of  his  position  well,  showing  ability  as 
a  man  of  business,  and  living  in  harmony  with  his  colleagues. 
As  often  as  he  reached  Washington,  at  the  beginning  of  a  ses- 
sion, he  found  the  President's  card  (so  Colonel  Benton  tells  us) 
awaiting  him  for  dinner  the  next  day  at  the  White  House,  when 
the  great  measures  of  the  session  were  discussed.  It  was  he  who 
moved  the  resolutions  of  respect  for  the  memory  of  that  consum- 
mate republican,  that  entire  and  perfect  democrat,  Samuel  Adams 
of  Massachusetts.  It  was  he  who  arranged  the  financial  measures 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  199 

required  for  the  purchase  of  Louisiana,  and  made  no  objection 
to  the  purchase.  During  the  first  six  years  of  Mr.  Jefferson's 
Presidency,  he  shrank  from  no  duty  which  his  party  had  a  right 
to  claim  from  him.  Whatever  there  might  be  narrow  or  erro- 
neous in  his  political  creed  was  neutralized  by  the  sentiment  of 
nationality  which  the  capital  inspires,  and  by  the  practical  views 
which  must  needs  be  taken  of  public  affairs  by  the  Chairman  of 
the  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means. 

These  were  the  happy  years  of  his  life,  and  the  most  honora- 
ble ones.  Never,  since  governments  have  existed,  has  a  country 
been  governed  so  wisely,  so  honestly,  and  so  economically  as  the 
United  States  was  governed  during  the  Presidency  of  Thomas 
Jefferson.  Randolph  himself,  after  twenty  years  of  opposition  to 
the  policy  of  this  incomparable  ruler,  could  still  say  of  his  admin- 
istration, that  it  was  the  only  one  he  had  ever  known  which 
"  seriously  and  in  good  faith  was  disposed  to  give  up  its  patron- 
age," and  which  desired  to  go  further  in  depriving  itself  of  power 
than  the  people  themselves  had  thought.  "  Jefferson,"  said  John 
Randolph  in  1828,  "was  the  only  man  I  ever  knew  or  heard  of 
who  really,  truly,  and  honestly,  not  only  said,  Nolo  episcopari, 
but  actually  refused  the  mitre." 

For  six  years,  as  we  have  said,  Mr.  Randolph  led  the  Repub- 
lican party  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  and  supported  the 
measures  of  the  administration,  —  all  of  them.  In  the  spring  of 
1807,  without  apparent  cause,  he  suddenly  went  into  opposition, 
and  from  that  time  opposed  the  policy  of  the  administration,  — 
the  whole  of  it. 

Why  this  change  ?  If  there  were  such  a  thing  as  going  ap~ 
prentice  to  the  art  of  discovering  truth,  a  master  in  that  art  could 
not  set  an  apprentice  a  better  preliminary  lesson  than  this :  Why 
did  John  Randolph  go  into  opposition  in  1807  ?  The  gossips  of 
that  day  had  no  difficulty  in  answering  the  question.  Some  said 
he  had  asked  Mr.  Jefferson  for  a  foreign  mission,  and  been  re- 
fused. Others  thought  it  was  jealousy  of  Mr.  Madison,  who  was 
known  to  be  the  President's  choice  for  the  succession.  Others 
eurmised  that  an  important  state  secret  had  been  revealed  to 
other  members  of  the  House,  but  not  to  him.  These  opinions 


200  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

our  tyro  would  find  very  positively  recorded,,  and  he  would  also, 
in  the  course  of  his  researches,  come  upon  the  statement  that  Mr 
Randolph  himself  attributed  the  breach  to  his  having  beaten  the 
President  at  a  game  of  chess,  which  the  President  could  not  forgive. 
The  truth  is,  that  John  Randolph  bolted  for  the  same  reason 
that  a  steel  spring  resumes  its  original  bent  the  instant  the  re- 
straining force  is  withdrawn.  His  position  as  leader  of  a  party 
was  irksome,  because  it  obliged  him  to  work  in  harness,  and  he 
had  never  been  broken  to  harness.  His  party  connection  bound 
him  to  side  with  France  ha  the  great  contest  then  raging  between 
France  and  England,  and  yet  his  whole  soul  sympathized  with 
England.  This  native  Virginian  was  more  consciously  and  posi- 
tively English  than  any  native  of  England  ever  was.  English 
literature  had  nourished  his  mind ;  English  names  captivated  his 
imagination ;  English  traditions,  feelings,  instincts,  habits,  preju- 
dices, were  all  congenial  to  his  nature.  How  hard  for  such  a 
man  to  side  officially  with  Napoleon  in  those  gigantic  wars !  Ab- 
horring Napoleon  with  all  a  Randolph's  force  of  antipathy,  it  was 
nevertheless  expected  of  him,  as  a  good  Republican,  to  interpret 
leniently  the  man  who,  besides  being  the  armed  soldier  of  democ- 
racy, had  sold  Louisiana  to  the  United  States.  Randolph,  more- 
over, was  an  absolute  aristocrat.  He  delighted* to  tell  the  House 
of  Representatives  that  he,  being  a  Virginian  slaveholder,  was 
not  obliged  to  curry  favor  with  his  coachman  or  his  shoeblack, 
lest  when  he  drove  to  the  polls  the  coachman  should  dismount 
from  his  box,  or  the  shoeblack  drop  his  brushes,  and  neutralize 
their  master's  vote  by  voting  on  the  other  side.  How  he  exulted 
in  the  fact  that  in  Virginia  none  but  freeholders  could  vote ! 
How  happy  he  was  to  boast,  that,  in  all  that  Commonwealth, 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  ballot-box !  "  May  I  never  live  to 
see  the  day,"  he  would  exclaim,  "  when  a  Virginian  shall  be 
ashamed  to  declare  aloud  at  the  polls  for  whom  he  casts  his 
vote ! "  What  pleasure  he  took  in  speaking  of  his  Virginia  wilder- 
ness as  a  "  barony,"  and  signing  his  name  "  John  Randolph  of 
Roanoke,"  and  in  wearing  the  garments  that  were  worn  in  Vir- 
ginia when  the  great  tobacco  lords  were  running  through  theii 
estates  in  the  fine  old  picturesque  and  Irish  fashion ! 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  201 

Obviously,  an  antique  of  this  pattern  waa  out  of  place  as  a 
leader  m  the  Republican  party.  For  a  time  the  spell  of  Jeffer- 
son's winning  genius,  and  the  presence  of  a  powerful  opposition, 
kept  him  in  some  subjection;  but  in  1807  that  spell  had  spent  its 
force,  and  the  Federal  party  was  not  formidable.  John  Randolph 
was  himself  again.  The  immediate  occasion  of  the  rupture  was, 
probably,  Mr.  Jefferson's  evident  preference  of  James  Madison 
as  his  successor.  We  have  a  right  to  infer  this,  from  the  ex- 
treme and  lasting  rancor  which  Randolph  exhibited  toward  Mr. 
Madison,  who  he  used  to  say  was  as  mean  a  man  for  a  Virginian 
as  John  Quincy  Adams  was  for  a  Yankee.  Nor  ought  we  ever 
to  speak  of  this  gifted  and  unhappy  man  without  considering  his 
physical  condition.  It  appears  from  the  slight  notices  we  have 
of  this  vital  matter,  that  about  the  year  1807  the  stock  of  vigor 
which  his  youth  had  acquired  was  gone,  and  he  lived  thenceforth 
a  miserable  invalid,  afflicted  with  diseases  that  sharpen  the 
temper  and  narrow  the  mind.  John  Randolph  well  might  have 
outgrown  inherited  prejudices  and  limitations,  and  attained  to  the 
stature  of  a  modern,  a  national,  a  republican  man.  John  Randolph 
sick  —  radically  and  incurably  sick  —  ceased  to  grow  just  when 
his  best  growth  would  naturally  have  begun. 

The  sudden  defection  of  a  man  so  conspicuous  and  considera- 
ble, at  a  time  when  the  Republican  party  was  not  aware  of  its 
strength,  struck  dismay  to  many  minds,  who  felt,  with  Jefferson, 
that  to  the  Republican  party  in  the  United  States  were  confided 
the  best  interests  of  human  nature.  Mr.  Jefferson  was  not  in  the 
least  alarmed,  because  he  knew  the  strength  of  the  party  and  the 
weakness  of  the  man.  The  letter  which  he  wrote  on  this  subject 
to  Mr.  Monroe  ought  to  be  learned  by  heart  by  every  politician 
in  the  country,  —  by  the  self-seekers,  for  the  warning  which  it 
gives  them,  and  by  the  patriotic,  for  the  comfort  which  it  affords 
them  in  time  of  trouble.  Some  readers,  perhaps,  will  be  re- 
minded by  it  of  events  which  occurred  at  Washington  not  longer 
ago  than  last  winter.* 

"  Our  old  friend  Mercer  broke  off  from  us  some  time  ago  ;  at  first, 
professing  to  disdain  joining  the  Federalists ;  yet,  from  the  babit  of 

•  18«5-6. 
8» 


202  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

voting  togetbe-,  becoming  soon  identified  with  them.  Without  cairv- 
ing  over  with  him  one  single  person,  he  is  now  in  a  state  of  as  perfect 
obscurity  as  if  his  name  had  never  been  known.  Mr.  J.  Randolph  is 
in  the  same  track,  and  will  end  in  the  same  way.  His  course  has  ex- 
cited considerable  alarm.  Timid  men  consider  it  as  a  proof  of  the 
weakness  of  our  government,  and  that  it  is  to  be  rent  in  pieces  by 
demagogues  and  to  end  in  anarchy.  I  survey  the  scene  with  a  differ- 
ent eye,  and  draw  a  different  augury  from  it.  In  a  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives of  a  great  mass  of  good  sense,  Mr.  Randolph's  popular  elo- 
quence gave  him  such  advantages  as  to  place  him  unrivalled  as  the 
leader  of  the  House  ;  and,  although  not  conciliatory  to  those  whom  he 
led,  principles  of  duty  and  patriotism  induced  many  of  them  to  swallow 
humiliations  he  subjected  them  to,  and  to  vote  as  was  right,  as  long  as 
he  kept  the  path  of  right  himself.  The  sudden  departure  of  such  a 
man  could  not  but  produce  a  momentary  astonishment,  and  even  dis- 
may ;  but  for  a  moment  only.  The  good  sense  of  the  House  rallied 
around  its  principles,  and,  without  any  leader,  pursued  steadily  the  busi- 
ness of  the  session,  did  it  well,  and  by  a  strength  of  vote  which  has 

never  before  been  seen The  augury  I  draw  from  this  is,  that 

there  is  a  steady  good  sense  in  the  legislature  and  in  the  body.of  the 
nation,  joined  with  good  intentions,  which  will  lead  them  to  discern 
and  to  pursue  the  public  good  under  all  circumstances  which  can  arise, 
and  that  no  ignis  fatuus  will  be  able  to  lead  them  long  astray." 

Mr.  Jefferson  predicted  that  the  lost  sheep  of  the  Republican 
fold  would  wander  off  to  the  arid  wastes  of  Federalism  ;  but  he 
never  did  so.  His  defection  was  not  an  inconsistency,  but  a  return 
to  consistency.  He  presented  himself  in  his  true  character 
thenceforth,  which  was  that  of  a  States'  Rights  fanatic.  He  op- 
posed the  election  of  Mr.  Madison  to  the  Presidency,  as  he  said, 
because  Mr.  Madison  was  weak  on  the  sovereignty  of  the  States. 
He  opposed  the  war  of  1812  for  two  reasons:  —  1.  Offensive 
war  was  in  itself  unconstitutional,  being  a  national  act.  2.  War 
was  nationalizing.  A  hundred  times  before  the  war,  he  foretold 
that,  if  war  occurred,  the  sovereignty  of  the  States  was  gone  for- 
ever, and  we  should  lapse  into  nationality.  A  thousand  times 
after  the  war,  he  declared  that  this  dread  lapse  had  occurred. 
At  a  public  dinner,  after  the  return  of  peace,  he  gave  the  once 
celebrated  toast,  "  States'  Rights,  —  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonutn." 
As  before  the  war  he  sometimes  affected  himself  to  tears  while 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  203 

dwelling  upon  the  sad  prospect  of  kindred  people  imbruing  their 
hands  in  one  another's  blood,  so  during  the  war  he  was  one  of  the 
few  American  citizens  who  lamented  the  triumphs  of  their  coun- 
try's arms.  In  his  solitude  at  Roanoke  he  was  cast  down  at  the 
news  of  Perry's  victory  on  the  lake,  because  he  thought  it  would 
prolong  the  contest ;  and  he  exulted  in  the  banishment  of  Napo- 
leon to  Elba,  although  it  let  loose  the  armies  and  fleets  of 
Britain  upon  the  United'  States.  "  That  insolent  coward,"  said 
he,  "  has  met  his  deserts  at  last."  This  Virginia  Englishman 
would  not  allow  that  Napoleon  possessed  even  military  talent  • 
but  stoutly  maintained,  to  the  last,  that  he  was  the  merest  sport 
of  fortune.  When  the  work  of  restoration  was  in  progress,  under 
the  leadership  of  Clay  and  Calhoun,  John  Randolph  was  in  hi* 
element,  for  he  could  honestly  oppose  every  movement  and  sug- 
gestion of  those  young  orators,  —  national  bank,  protective  tariff, 
internal  improvements,  everything.'  He  was  one  of  the  small 
number  who  objected  to  the  gift  of  land  and  money  to  Lafayette, 
and  one  of  the  stubborn  minority  who  would  have  seen  the  Union 
broken  up  rather  than  assent  to  the  Missouri  Compromise,  or  to 
any  Missouri  compromise.  The  question  at  issue  in  all  these 
measures,  he  maintained,  was  the  same,  and  it  was  this :  Are  we 
a  nation  or  a  confederacy  ? 

Talent,  too,  is  apt  to  play  the  despot  over  (he  person  that 
possesses  it.  This  man  had  such  a  power  of  witty  vituperation 
in  him,  with  so  decided  a  histrionic  gift,  that  his  rising  to  speak 
was  always  an  interesting  event ;  and  he  would  occasionally  hold 
both  the  House  and  the  galleries  attentive  for  three  or  four 
hours.  He  became  accustomed  to  this  homage;  he  craved  it; 
it  became  necessary  to  him.  As  far  back  as  1811,  "Washington 
Irving  wrote  of  him,  in  one  of  his  letters  from  Washington  : 
"  There  is  no  speaker  in  either  House  that  excites  such  universal 
attention  as  Jack  Randolph.  But  they  listen  to  him  more  to  be 
delighted  by  his  eloquence  and  entertained  by  his  ingenuity  and 
eccentricity,  than  to  be  convinced  by  sound  doctrine  and  close 
argument."  As  he  advanced  in  age,  this  habit  of  startling  the 
House  by  unexpected  dramatic  exhibitions  grew  upon  him. 
One  of  the  most  vivid  pictures  ever  painted  in  words  of  a  par 


204  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

Uamentary  scene  is  that  in  which  the  late  Mr.  S.  G.  Goodrich 
records  his  recollection  of  one  of  these  displays.  It  occurred  in 
1820,  during  one  of  the  Missouri  debates.  A  tall  man,  with  a 
little  head  and  a  small  oval  face,  like  that  of  an  aged  boy,  rose 
and  addressed  the  chairman. 

"  He  paused  a  moment,"  wrote  Mr.  Goodrich,  "  and  I  had  time  to 
study  his  appearance.  His  hair  was  jet-black,  and  clubbed  in  a  queue ; 
his  eye  was  black,  small,  and  painfully  penetrating.  His  complexion 
•was  a  yellowish-brown,  bespeaking  Indian  blood.  I  knew  at  once  that 
it  must  be  John  Randolph.  As  he  uttered  the  words,  '  Mr.  Speaker ! ' 
every  member  turned  in  his  seat,  and,  facing  him,  gazed  as  if  some 
portent  had  suddenly  appeared  before  them.  '  Mr.  Speaker,'  said 
he,  in  a  shrill  voice,  which,  however,  pierced  every  nook  and  corner  of 
th£  hall,  '  I  have  but  one  word  to  say,  —  one  word,  sir,  and  that  is  to 
state  a  fact.  The  measure  to  which  the  gentleman  has  just  alluded 
originated  in  a  dirty  trick ! '  These  were  his  precise  words.  The  sub- 
ject to  which  he  referred  I  did  not  gather,  but  the  coolness  and  impu- 
dence of  the  speaker  were  admirable  in  their  way.  I  never  saw  better 
acting,  even  in  Kean.  His  look,  his  manner,  his  long  arm,  his  elvish 
fore-finger, — like  an  exclamation-point,  punctuating  his  bitter  thought, 
—  showed  the  skill  of  a  master.  The  effect  of  the  whole  was  to  startle 
everybody,  as  if  a  pistol-shot  had  rung  through  the  hall."  —  Recollec- 
tions, Vol.  H.  p.  395. 

Such  anecdotes  as  these,  which  are  very  numerous,  both  in 
and  out  of  print,  convey  an  inadequate  idea  of  his  understand- 
ing ;  for  there  was  really  a  great  fund  of  good  sense  in  him  and 
n  his  political  creed.  Actor  as  he  was,  he  was  a  very  honest 
roan,  and  had  a  hearty  contempt  for  all  the  kinds  of  falsehood 
which  he  had  no  inclination  to  commit.  No  man  was  more  res- 
tive under  debt  than  he,  or  has  better  depicted  its  horrors. 
Speaking  once  of  those  Virginia  families  who  gave  banquets  and 
kept  up  expensive  establishments,  while  their  estates  were  cov- 
ered all  over  with  mortgages,  he  said :  "  t  always  think  J  can  see 
the  anguish  under  the  grin  and  grimace,  like  old  Mother  Cole's 
dirty  flannel  peeping  out  beneath  her  Brussels  lace."  He  was 
strong  in  the  opinion  that  a  man  who  is  loose  in  money  matters 
is  not  trustworthy  in  anything,  —  an  opinion  which  is  shared  by 
every  one  who  knows  either  life  or  history.  "  The  time  was," 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  205 

he  wrote,  "  when  ]  was  fool  enough  to  believe  that  a  man  might 
be  negligent  of  pecuniary  obligations,  and  yet  be  a  very  good  fel- 
low ;  but  long  experience  has  convinced  me  that  he  who  is  lax  in 
this  respect  is  utterly  unworthy  of  trust  in  any  other."  He  dis- 
criminated well  between  those  showy,  occasional  acts  of  so-called 
generosity  which  such  men  perform,  and  the  true,  habitual,  self- 
denying  benevolence  of  a  solvent  and  just  member  of  society. 
"  Despise  the  usurer  and  the  miser  as  much  as  you  will,"  he 
would  exclaim,  "  but  the  spendthrift  is  more  selfish  than  they." 
But  his  very  honesty  was  most  curiously  blended  with  his  toryism. 
One  of  his  friends  relates  the  following  anecdote :  — 

"  Just  before  we  sailed,  the  Washington  papers  were  received,  an- 
nouncing the  defeat  of  the  Bankrupt  Bill  by  a  small  majority.  At 
that  moment,  I  forgot  that  Randolph  had  been  one  of  its  most  deter- 
mined opponents,  and  I  spoke  with  the  feelings  of  a  merchant  when  I 
said  to  him,  — 

" '  Have  you  heard  the  very  bad  news  from  Washington  this 
morning  ?  * 

"  '  No,  sir,'  replied  he,  with  eagerness ;  '  what  is  it  ? ' 

" '  Why,  sir,  I  am  sorry  to  tell  yofi  that  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives has  thrown  out  the  Bankrupt  Bill  by  a  small  majority.' 

" '  Sorry,  sir ! '  exclaimed  he ;  and  then,  taking  off  his  hat  and  look- 
ing upwards,  he  added,  most  emphatically,  '  Thank  God  for  all  hia 
mercies ! ' 

"  After  a  short  pause  he  continued  :  '  How  delighted  I  am  to  think 
that  I  helped  to  give  that  hateful  bill  a  kick.  Yes,  sir,  this  very  day 
week  I  spoke  for  three  hours  against  it,  and  my  friends,  who  forced  me 
to  make  the  effort,  were  good  enough  to  say  that  I  never  had  made  a 
more  successful  speech ;  it  must  have  had  some  merit,  sir ;  for  I  assure 
you,  whilst  I  was  speaking,  although  the  Northern  mail  was  announced, 
not  a  single  member  left  his  seat  to  look  for  letters,  —  a  circumstance 
which  had  not  occurred  before  during  the  session ! ' 

"  I  endeavored  to  combat  his  objections  to  a  Bankrupt  Bill  subse- 
quently, but,  of  course,  without  any  success  :  he  felt  as  a  planter,  and 
teas  very  jealous  of  the  influence  of  merchants  as  legislators." 

There  are  flashes  of  sense  and  touches  of  pathos  in  some  of 
his  most  tory  passages.  As  he  was  delivering  in  the  House  one 
of  his  emphatic  predictions  of  the  certain  failure  of  our  experi- 
ment of  freedom  on  this  continent,  he  broke  into  an  apology  for 


206  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

so  doing,  that  brought  tears  to  many  eyes.  "  It  is  an  infirmity 
of  my  nature,"  said  he,  "to  have  an  obstinate  constitutional  pref 
erence  of  the  true  over  the  agreeable ;  and  I  am  satisfied,  that, 
if  I  had  had  an  only  son,  or  what  is  dearer,  an  only  daughter,  — 
which  God  forbid  !  —  I  say,  God  forbid,  for  she  might  bring  her 
father's  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave ;  she  might  break 
my  heart,  or  worse  than  that  —  what  ?  Can  anything  be  worse 
than  that  ?  Yes,  sir,  /  might  break  hers !  "  His  fable,  too,  of 
the  caterpillar  and  the  horseman  was  conceived  in  arrogance,  but 
it  was  pretty  and  effective.  Every  tory  intellect  on  earth  is 
pleased  to  discourse  in  that  way  of  the  labors  of  the  only  men 
who  greatly  help  their  species,  —  the  patient  elaborators  of  truth. 
A  caterpillar,  as  we  learn  from  this  fable,  had  crawled  slowly 
over  a  fence,  which  a  gallant  horseman  took  at  a  single  leap. 
"  Stop,"  says  the  caterpillar,  "you  are  too  flighty  ;  you  want  con- 
nection and  continuity ;  it  took  me  an  hour  to  get  over ;  you 
can't  be  as  sure  as  I  am  that  you  have  really  overcome  the 
difficulty,  and  are  indeed  over  the  fence."  To  which,  of  course, 
the  gallant  horseman  makes  the  expected  contemptuous  reply. 
This  is  precisely  in  the  spirit  of  Carlyle's  sneers  at  the  politi- 
cal economists,  —  the  men  who  are  not  content  to  sit  down  and 
howl  in  this  wilderness  of  a  modern  world,  but  bestir  them- 
selves to  discover  methods  by  which  it  can  be  made  less  a  wil- 
derness. 

There  is  so  much  truth  in  the  doctrines  of  the  original  States' 
Rights  party,  —  the  party  of  Jefferson,  Madison,  and  Patrick 
Henry,  —  that  a  very  commonplace  man,  who  learned  his  politics 
in  that  school,  is  able  to  make  a  respectable  figure  in  the  public 
counsels.  The  mere  notion  that  government,  being  a  necessary 
evil,  is  to  be  reduced  to  the  minimum  that  will  answer  the  pur- 
poses of  government,  saves  from  many  false  steps.  The  doctrine 
that  the  central  government  is  to  confine  itself  to  the  duties  as- 
signed it  in  the  Constitution,  is  a  guiding  principle  suited  to  the 
limited  human  mind.  A  vast  number  of  claims,  suggestions,  and 
petitions  are  excluded  by  it  even  from  consideration.  If  an  elo- 
quent Hamiltonian  proposes  to  appropriate  the  public  money  for 
the  purpose  of  enabling  American  manufacturers  to  exhibit  their 


JOHN   RANDOLPH.  207 

products  at  a  Paris  Exhibition,  the  plainest  country  member  of 
the  Jeffersonian  school  perceives  at  once  the  inconsistency  of  such 
a  proposition  with  the  fundamental  principle  of  his  political  creed. 
He  has  a  compass  to  steer  by,  and  a  port  to  sail  to,  instead  of 
being  afloat  on  the  waste  of  waters,  the  sport  of  every  breeze 
that  blows.  It  is  touching  to  observe  that  this  unhappy,  sick,  and 
sometimes  mad  John  Randolph,  amid  all  the  vagaries  of  h:s  later 
life,  had  always  a  vein  of  soundness  in  him,  derived  from  hw 
early  connection  with  the  enlightened  men  who  acted  in  politics 
with  Thomas  Jefferson.  The  phrase  "  masterly  inactivity "  is 
Randolph's  ;  and  it  is  something  only  to  have  given  convenient 
expression  to  a  system  of  conduct  so  often  wise.  He  used  to  say 
that  Congress  could  scarcely  do  too  little.  His  ideal  of  a  session 
was  one  in  which  members  should  make  speeches  till  every  man 
had  fully  expressed  and  perfectly  relieved  his  mind,  then  pass 
the  appropriation-  bills,  and  go  home.  And  we  ought  not  to 
forgot  that,  when  President  John  Quincy  Adams  brought  for- 
ward his  schemes  for  covering  the  continent  with  magnificent 
works  at  the  expense  of  the  treasury  of  the  United  States,  and 
of  uniting  the  republics  of  both  Americas  into  a  kind  of  holy 
alliance,  it  was  Randolph's  piercing  sarcasm  which,  more  than 
anything  else,  made  plain  to  new  members  the  fallacy,  the  peril, 
of  such  a  system.  His  opposition  to  this  wild  federalism  in- 
volved his  support  of  Andrew  Jackson  ;  but  there  was  no  other 
choice  open  to  him.  , 

Seldom  did  he  display  in  Congress  so  much  audacity  and  in- 
genuity as  in  defending  General  Jackson  while  he  was  a  candi- 
date for  the  Presidency  against  Mr.  Adams.  The  two  objections 
oftenest  urged  against  Jackson  were  that  he  was  a  military  chief- 
tain, and  that  he  could  not  spell.  Mr.  Randolph  discoursed  on 
these  two  points  in  a  most  amusing  manner,  displaying  all  the  im- 
pudence and  ignorance  of  the  tory,  inextricably  mingled  with  the 
good  sense  and  wit  of  the  man.  "  General  Jackson  cannot  write," 
said  a  friend.  "  Granted,"  replied  he.  '  General  Jackson  can- 
not write  because  he  was  never  taught ;  but  his  competitor 
cannot  write  because  he  was  not  teachable."  He  made  a  bold 
remark  in  one  of  his  Jacksonian  harangues.  "  The  talent  which 


208  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

enables  a  man  to  write  a  book  or  make  a  speech  has  no  more 
relation  to  the  leading  of  an  army  or  a  senate,  than  it  has  to  the 
dressing  of  a  dinner."  He  pronounced  a  fine  eulogiuna  on  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough,  one  of  the  worst  spellers  in  Europe,  and 
then  asked  if  gentlemen  would  have  had  that  illustrious  man 
"superseded  by  a  Scotch  schoolmaster."  It  was  in  the  same 
ludicrous  harangue  that  he  uttered  his  famous  joke  upon  those 
schools  in  which  young  ladies  were  said  to  be  "  finished."  "  Yes," 
he  exclaimed,  "finished  indeed ;  finished  for  all  the  duties  of  a 
wife,  or  mother,  or  mistress  of  a  family."  Again  he  said :  "  There 
is  much  which  it  becomes  a  second-rate  man  to  know,  which  a  first- 
rate  man  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  know.  No  head  was  ever  clear 
and  sound  that  was  stuffed  with  book-learning.  My  friend,  W 
R.  Johnson,  has  many  a  groom  that  can  clean  and  dress  a  race- 
horse, and  ride  him  too,  better  than  he  can."  He  made  the 
sweeping  assertion,  that  no  man  had  ever  presided  over  a  govern- 
ment with  advantage  to  the  country  governed,  who  had  not  in 
him  the  making  of  a  good  general ;  for,  said  he,  "  the  talent  for 
government  lies  in  these  two  things,  —  sagacity  to  perceive,  and 
decision  to  act."  Really,  when  we  read  this  ingenious  apology 
for,  or  rather  eulogy  of,  ignorance,  we  cease  to  wonder  that  Gen- 
eral Jackson  should  have  sent  him  to  Russia. 

The  religious  life  of  Randolph  is  a  most  curious  study.  He 
experienced  in  his  lifetime  four  religious  changes,  or  conversions. 
His  gentle  mother,  whose  name  he  seldom  uttered  without  add' 
ing  with  tender  emphasis,  "  God  bless  her !  "  was  such  a  member 
of  the  Church  of  England  as  gentle  ladies  used  to  be  before  an 
"  Evangelical "  party  was  known  in  it.  She  taught  his  infant 
lips  to  pray;  and,  being  naturally  trustful  and  affectionate,  he 
was  not  an  unapt  pupil.  But  in  the  library  of  the  old  mansior. 
on  the  Appomattox,  in  which  he  passed  his  forming  years,  there 
was  a  "  wagon-load "  of  what  he  terms  "  French  infidelity," 
though  it  appears  there  were  almost  as  many  volumes  of  Hobbes, 
Shaftesbury,  Collins,  Hume,  and  Gibbon,  as  there  were  of 
Diderot,  D'Alembert,  Helvetius,  and  Voltaire.  These  works  he 
read  in  boyhood ;  and  when  he  came  to  mingle  among  men,  he 
found  that  the  opinions  of  such  authors  prevailed  in  the  circles 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  209 

which  he  most  frequented.  Just  as  he,  a  natural  tory,  caught 
some  tincture  of  republicanism  from  Jefferson  and  his  friends,  so 
he,  the  natural  believer,  adopted  tne  fashion  of  scepticism,  which 
then  ruled  the  leading  minds  of  all  lands  ;  and  just  as  he  lapsed 
back  into  toryism  when  the  spell  which  drew  him  away  from  it 
had  spent  its  force,  so  he  became,  in  the  decline  of  his  powers,  a 
prey  to  religious  terrors.  For  twenty-two  years,  as  we  have 
said,  he  held  aloof  from  religion,  its  ministers,  and  its  temples. 
The  disease  that  preyed  upon  him  so  sharpened  his  temper,  and 
so  perverted  his  perceptions  of  character,  that,  one  after  another, 
he  alienated  all  the  friends  and  relations  with  whom  he  ought  to 
have  lived ;  and  he  often  found  himself,  between  the  sessions  of 
Congress,  the  sole  white  tenant  of  his  lonely  house  atRoanoke, — 
the  sick  and  solitary  patriarch  of  a  family  of  three  hundred  per- 
sons. He  sought  to  alleviate  this  horrid  solitude  by  adopting 
and  rearing  the  orphaned  sons  of  old  friends ;  to  whom,  when  he 
w&s  himself,  he  was  the  most  affectionate  and  generous  of  guar- 
dians. But  even  they  could  not  very  long  endure  him ;  for,  in 
nis  adverse  moods,  he  was  incarnate  Distrust,  and,  having  con- 
ceived a  foul  suspicion,  his  genius  enabled  him  to  give  it  such 
withering  expression  that  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  a  young 
man  to  pass  it  by  as  the  utterance  of  transient  madness.  So  they 
too  left  him,  and  he  was  utterly  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of 
black  dependants.  We  see  from  his  letters,  that,  while  he  saw 
the  impossibility  of  his  associating  with  his  species,  he  yet  longed 
and  pined  for  their  society  and  love.  Perhaps  there  never  lived 
a  more  unhappy  person.  Revering  women,  and  formed  to  find 
his  happiness  in  domestic  life,  he  was  incapable  of  being  a  hus- 
band ;  and  if  this  had  not  been  the  case,  no  woman  could  have 
lived  with  him.  Yearning  for  companionship,  but  condemned  to 
be  alone,  his  solace  was  the  reflection  that,  so  long  as  there  was 
no  one  near  him,  he  was  a  torment  ohlv  to  himself.  "  Often,"  he 
writes  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  I  mount  my  horse  and  sit  upon  him 
for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  wishing  to  go  somewhere,  but  not 
knowing  where  to  ride ;  for  I  would  escape  anywhere  from  the 
incubus  that  weighs  me  down,  body  and  soul ;  but  the  fiend  fol- 
lows me  en  croupe The  strongest  considerations  of  duty 


210  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

are  barely  sufficient  to  prevent  me  from  absconding  to  some  dis 
tant  country,  where  I  might  live  and  die  unknown." 

A  mind  in  such  a  state  as  this  is  the  natural  prey  of  super- 
stition. A  dream,  he  used  to  say,  first  recalled  his  mind  to  the 
consideration  of  religion.  This  was  about  the  year  1810,  at  the 
height  of  those  hot  debates  that  preceded  the  war  of  1812.  For 
nine  years,  he  tells  us,  the  subject  gradually  gained  upon  him,  so 
that,  at  last,  it  was  his  first  thought  in  the  morning  and  his  last  at 
night.  From  the  atheism  upon  which  he  had  formerly  plumed 
himself,  he  went  to  the  opposite  extreme.  For  a  long  time  he 
was  plunged  into  the  deepest  gloom,  regarding  himself  as  a  sinner 
too  vile  to  be  forgiven.  He  sought  for  comfort  in  the  Bible,  in 
the  Prayer-book,  in  conversation  and  correspondence  with  re- 
ligious friends,  in  the  sermons  of  celebrated  preachers.  He 
formed  a  scheme  of  retiring  from  the  world  into  some  kind  of 
religious  retreat,  and  spending  the  rest  of  his  life  in  prayers  and 
meditation.  Rejecting  this  as  a  cowardly  desertion  of  the  post 
of  duty,  he  had  thoughts  of  setting  up  a  school  for  children,  and 
becoming  himself  a  teacher  in  it.  This  plan,  too,  he  laid  aside, 
as  savoring  of  enthusiasm.  Meanwhile,  this  amiable  and  honest 
gentleman,  whose  every  error  was  fairly  attributable  to  tho  natu- 
ral limitations  of  his  mind  or  to  the  diseases  that  racked  his  body, 
was  tormented  by  remorse,  which  would  have  been  excessive  if 
he  had  been  a  pirate.  He  says  that,  after  three  years  of  contin- 
ual striving,  he  still  dared  not  partake  of  the  Communion,  feeling 
himself  "unworthy."  "I  was  present,"  he  writes,  "when  Mr. 
Hoge  invited  to  the  table,  and  I  would  have  given  all  I  was 
worth  to  have  been  able  to  approach  it."  Some  inkling  of  his 
condition,  it  appears,  became  known  to  the  public,  and  excited 
great  good-will  towards  him  on  the  part  of  many  persons  of  similar 
belief. 

Some  of  his  letters  written  during  this  period  contain  an  almost 
ludicrous  mixture  of  truth  and  extravagance.  He  says  in  one  of 
them,  that  his  heart  has  been  softened,  and  he  "  thinks  he  has 
succeeded  in  forgiving  all  his  enemies  "  ;  then  he  adds,  "  There  ia 
not  a  human  being  that  I  would  hurt  if  it  were  in  my  power,  — 
not  eitn  Bonaparte"  In  another  place  he  remarks  that  the 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  211 

world  is  a  ?ast  mad-house,  and,  "  if  what  is  to  come  be  anything 
like  what  has  passed,  it  would  be  wise  to  abandon  the  hulk  to  the 
underwriters,  —  the  worms."  In  the  whole  of  his  intercourse 
with  mankind,  he  says  he  never  met  with  but  three  persons  whom 
he  did  not,  on  getting  close  to  their  hearts,  discover  to  be  unhap- 
py ;  and  they  were  the  only  three  he  had  ever  known  who  had 
a  religion.  He  expresses  this  truth  in  language  which  limits  it 
to  one  form  or  kind  of  religion,  the  kind  which  he  heard  expound- 
ed in  the  churches  of  Virginia  in  1819.  Give  it  broader  expres- 
sion, and  every  observer  of  human  life  will  assent  to  it.  It  is 
indeed  most  true,  that  no  human  creature  gets  much  out  of  life 
who  has  no  religion,  no  sacred  object,  to  the  furtherance  of  which 
his  powers  are  dedicated. 

He  obtained  some  relief  at  length,  and  became  a  regular  com- 
municant of  the  Episcopal  Church.  But  although  he  ever  after 
manifested  an  extreme  regard  for  religious  things  and  persons, 
and  would  never  permit  either  to  be  spoken  against  in  his  pres- 
ence without  rebuke,  he  was  very  far  from  edifying  his  brethren 
by  a  consistent  walk.  At  Washington,  in  the  debates,  he  was  aa 
incisive  and  uncharitable  as  before.  His  denunciations  of  the 
second  President  Adams's  personal  character  were  as  outrageous 
as  his  condemnation  of  parts  of  his  policy  was  just.  Mr.  Clay, 
though  removed  from  the  arena  of  debate  by  his  appointment  to 
the  Department  of  State,  was  still  the  object  of  his  bitter  sarcasm ; 
and  at  length  he  included  the  President  and  the  Secretary  in  that 
merciless  philippic  in  which  he  accused  Mr.  Clay  of  forgery, 
and  styled  the  coalition  of  Adams  and  Clay  as  "  the  combination 
of  the  Puritan  and  the  Blackleg."  He  used  language,  too,  in 
the  course  of  this  speech,  which  was  understood  to  be  a  defiance 
to  mortal  combat,  and  it  was  so  reported  to  Mr.  Clay.  The  re- 
porters, however,  misunderstood  him,  as  it  was  not  his  intention 
nor  his  desire  to  fight.  Nevertheless,  to  the  astonishment  and 
sorrow  of  his  religious  friends,  he  accepted  Mr.  Clay's  challenge 
with  the  utmost  possible  promptitude,  and  bore  himself  through- 
out the  affair  like  (to  use  the  poor,  lying,  tory  cant  of  the  last 
generation)  "  a  high-toned  Virginia  gentleman."  Colonel  Benton 
tells  us  that  Mr.  Randolph  invented  an  ingenious  excuse  for  the 


iJ!2  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

enormous  inconsistency  of  his  conduct  on  this  occasion.  A  duel) 
he  maintained,  was  private  war,  and  was  justifiable  on  the  same 
ground  as  a  war  between  two  nations.  Both  were  lamentable, 
but  both  were  allowable  when  there  was  no  other  way  of  getting 
redress  for  insults  and  injuries.  This  was  plausible,  but  it  did 
not  deceive  him.  He  knew  very  well  that  his  offensive  language 
respecting  a  man  whom  he  really  esteemed  was  wholly  devoid  of 
excuse.  He  had  the  courage  requisite  to  expiate  the  offence  by 
standing  before  Mr.  Clay's  pistol ;  but  he  could  not  stand  before 
his  countrymen  and  confess  that  his  abominable  antithesis  was 
but  the  spurt  of  mingled  ill-temper  and  the  vanity  to  shine.  Any 
good  tory  can  fight  a  duel  with  a  respectable  degree  of  com- 
posure ;  but  to  own  one's  self,  in  the  presence  of  a  nation,  to  have 
outraged  the  feelings  of  a  brother-man,  from  the  desire  to  startle 
and  amuse  an  audience,  requires  the  kind  of  valor  which  tories 
do  not  know.  "  Whig  and  tory,"  says  Mr.  Jefferson,  "  belong  to 
natural  history."  But  then  there  is  such  a  thing,  we  are  told, 
as  the  regeneration  of  the  natural  man  ;  and  we  believe  it,  and 
cling  to  it  as  a  truth  destined  one  day  to  be  resuscitated  and  pu- 
rified from  the  mean  interpretations  which  have  made  the  very 
word  sickening  to  the  intelligence  of  Christendom.  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph had  not  achieved  the  regeneration  of  his  nature.  He  was 
a  tory  still.  In  the  testing  hour,  the  "  high-toned  Virginia  gen- 
tleman" carried  the  day,  without  a  struggle,  over  the  communicant. 
During  the  last  years  of  his  life,  the  monotony  of  his  anguish 
was  relieved  by  an  occasional  visit  to  the  Old  World.  It  is  in- 
teresting to  note  how  thoroughly  at  home  he  felt  himself  among 
the  English  gentry,  and  how  promptly  they  recognized  him  as  a 
man  and  a  brother.  He  was,  as  we  have  remarked,  more  Eng- 
lish than  an  Englishman;  for  England  does  advance,  though 
slowly,  from  the  insular  to  the  universal.  Dining  at  a  great 
house  in  London,  one  evening,  he  dwelt  with  pathetic  eloquence 
upon  the  decline  of  Virginia.  Being  asked  what  he  thought  was 
the  reason  of  her  decay,  he  startled  and  pleased  the  lords  and 
ladies  present  by  attributing  it  all  to  the  repeal  of  the  law  of  pri- 
mogeniture. One  of  the  guests  tells  us  that  this  was  deemed  "  a 
strange  remark  from  a  Republican"  and  that,  before  the  party 


JOHN   RANDOLPH.  213 

broke  up,  the  company  had  "  almost  taken  him  for  an  aristocrat." 
It  happened  sometimes,  when  he  was  conversing  with  English 
politicians,  that  it  was  the  American  who  defended  the  English 
system  against  the  attacks  of  Englishmen ;  and  so  full  of  British 
prejudice  was  he,  that,  in  Paris,  he  protested  that  a  decent  dinner 
could  not  be  bought  for  money.  Westminster  Abbey  woke  all 
his  veneration.  He  went  into  it,  one  morning,  just  as  service 
was  about  beginning,  and  took  his  place  among  the  worshippers. 
Those  of  our  readers  who  have  attended  the  morning  service  at 
an  English  cathedral  on  a  week-day  cannot  have  forgotten  the 
ludicrous  smallness  of  the  congregation  compared  with  the  impos- 
ing array  of  official  assistants.  A  person  who  has  a  little  tincture 
of  the  Yankee  in  him  may  even  find  himself  wondering  how  it 
can  "  pay  "  the  British  empire  to  employ  half  a  dozen  reverend 
clergymen  and  a  dozen  robust  singers  to  aid  seven  or  eight  unim- 
portant members  of  the  community  in  saying  their  prayers.  But 
John  Randolph  of  Roanoke  had  not  in  him  the  least  infusion  of 
Yankee.  Standing  erect  in  the  almost  vacant  space,  he  uttered 
the  responses  in  a  tone  that  was  in  startling  contrast  to  the  low 
mumble  of  the  clergyman's  voice,  and  that  rose  above  the  melo- 
dious amens  of  the  choir.  He  took  it  all  in  most  serious  earnest. 
When  the  service  was  over,  he  said  to  his  companion,  after  la- 
menting the  hasty  and  careless  manner  in  which  the  service  had 
been  performed,  that  he  esteemed  it  an  honor  to  have  worshipped 
God  in  Westminster  Abbey.  As  he  strolled  among  the  tombs, 
he  came,  at  last,  to  the  grave  of  two  men  who  had  often  roused 
his  enthusiasm.  He  stopped,  and  spoke :  "  I  will  not  say,  Take 
off  your  shoes,  for  the  ground  on  which  you  stand  is  holy ;  but. 
look,  sir,  do  you  see  those  simple  letters  on  the  flagstones  beneath 
your  feet,  —  W.  P.  and  C.  J.  F.  Here  lie,  side  by  side,  the  re- 
mains of  the  two  great  rivals,  Pitt  and  Fox,  whose  memory  so 
completely  lives  in  history.  No  marble  monuments  are  neces- 
sary to  mark  the  spot  where  their  bodies  repose.  There  is  more 
simple  grandeur  in  those  few  letters  than  in  all  the  surrounding 
monuments,  sir."  How  more  than  English  was  all  this!  Eng- 
land had  been  growing  away  from  and  beyond  Westminster 
Abbey,  William  Pitt,  and  Charles  James  Fox ;  but  this  Virginia 


214  JOHK  RANDOLPH. 

Englishman,  living  alone  in  his  woods,  with  his  slaves  and  his 
overseers,  severed  from  the  progressive  life  of  his  race,  was  liv- 
ing still  in  the  days  when  a  pair  of  dissolute  young  orators  could 
be  deemed,  and  with  some  reason  too,  the  most  important  persons 
in  a  great  empire.  A  friend  asked  him  how  he  was  pleased  with 
England.  He  answered  with  enthusiasm,  —  "  There  never  was 
such  a  country  on  the  face  of  the  earth  as  England,  and  it  is 
utterly  impossible  that  there  can  be  any  combination  of  circum- 
stances hereafter  to  make  such  another  country  as  Old  England 
now  is !  " 

We  ought  not  to  have  been  surprised  at  the  sympathy  which 
the  English  Tories  felt  during  the  late  war  for  their  brethren  in 
the  Southern  States  of  America.  It  was  as  natural  as  it  was  for 
the  English  Protestants  to  welcome  the  banished  Huguenots.  It 
was  as  natural  as  it  was  for  Louis  XIV.  to  give  an  asylum  to  the 
Stuarts.  The  traveller  who  should  have  gone,  seven  years  ago, 
straight  from  an  English  agricultural  county  to  a  cotton  district 
of  South  Carolina,  or  a  tobacco  county  of  Virginia,  would  have 
felt  that  the  differences  between  the  two  places  were  merely  ex- 
ternal. The  system  in  both  places  and  the  spirit  of  both  were 
strikingly  similar.  In  the  old  parts  of  Virginia,  the  Carolinas, 
Tennessee,  and  Kentucky,  you  had  only  to  get  ten  miles  from 
a  railroad  to  find  yourself  among  people  who  were  English  in 
their  feelings,  opinions,  habits,  and  even  in  their  accent.  New 
England  differs  from  Old  England,  because  New  England  has 
grown :  Virginia  was  English,  because  she  had  been  stationary. 
Happening  to  be  somewhat  familiar  with  the  tone  of  feeling  in 
the  South,  —  the  real  South,  or,  in  other  words,  the  South  ten 
miles  from  a  railroad,  —  we  were  fully  prepared  for  Mr.  Rus- 
sell's statement  with  regard  to  the  desire  so  frequently  expressed 
in  1861  for  one  of  the  English  princes  to  come  and  reign  over  a 
nascent  Confederacy.  Sympathies  and  antipathies  are  always 
mutual  when  they  are  natural ;  and  never  was  there  a  sympathy 
more  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  things,  than  that  which  so 
quickly  manifested  itself  between  the  struggling  Southern  people 
and  the  majority  of  the  ruling  classes  of  Great  Britain. 

Mr.  Randolph  took  leave  of  public  life,  after  thirty  years  of 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  215 

service,  not  in  the  most  dignified  manner.  He  furnished  another 
illustration  of  the  truth  of  a  remark  made  by  a  certain  queen  of 
Denmark,  —  "The  lady  doth  protest  too  much."  Like  many 
other  gentlemen  in  independent  circumstances,  he  had  been  par- 
ticularly severe  upon  those  of  his  fellow-citizens  who  earned  their 
subsistence  by  serving  the  public.  It  pleased  him  to  speak  of 
members  of  the  Cabinet  as  "  the  drudges  of  the  departments," 
and  to  hold  gentlemen  in  the  diplomatic  service  up  to  contempt 
as  forming  •'  the  tail  of  the  corps  diplomatique  in  Europe."  He 
liked  to  declaim  upon  the  enormous  impossibility  of  his  ever  ex- 
changing a  seat  in  Congress  for  "  the  shabby  splendors  "  of  an 
office  in  Washington,  or  in  a  foreign  mission  "  to  dance  attendance 
abroad  instead  of  at  home."  When  it  was  first  buzzed  about  in 
Washington,  in  1830,  that  General  Jackson  had  tendered  the 
Russian  mission  to  John  Randolph,  the  rumor  was  not  credited. 
An  appointment  so  exquisitely  absurd  was  supposed  to  be  beyond 
even  Andrew  Jackson's  audacity.  The  offer  had  been  made, 
however.  Mr.  Randolph's  brilliant  defence  of  General  Jackson's 
bad  spelling,  together  with  Mr.  Van  Buren's  willingness  to  place 
an  ocean  between  the  new  administration  and  a  master  of  sar- 
casm, to  whom  opposition  had  become  an  unchangeable  habit,  had 
dictated  an  offer  of  the  mission,  couched  in  such  seductive  lan- 
guage that  Mr.  Randolph  yielded  to  it  as  readily  as  those  ladies 
accept  an  offer  of  marriage  who  have  often  announced  their  inten- 
tion never  to  marry.  Having  reached  the  scene  of  his  diplomatic 
labors  at  the  beginning  of  August,  he  began  to  perform  them  with 
remarkable  energy.  In  a  suit  of  black,  the  best,  he  declared,  that 
London  could  furnish,  he  was  presented  to  the  Emperor  and  to  the 
Empress,  having  first  submitted  his  costume  to  competent  inspec- 
tion. Resolute  to  do  his  whole  duty,  he  was  not  content  to  send 
his  card  to  the  diplomatic  corps,  but,  having  engaged  a  handsome 
coach  and  four,  he  called  upon  each  member  of  the  diplomatic  body, 
from  the  ambassadors  to  the  secretaries  of  legation.  Having  per- 
formed these  labors,  and  having  discovered  that  a  special  object 
with  which  he  was  charged  could  not  then  be  accomplished,  he 
had  leisure  to  observe  that  St.  Petersburg,  in  the  month  of  Au« 
gust,  is  not  a  pleasant  residence  to  an  invalid  of  sixty.  He  de- 
scribes the  climate  in  these  terms :  — 


216  JOHN  RANDOLPH 

"  Heat,  dust  impalpable,  pervading  every  f>art  and  pore.  .  .  .  Insects 
of  all  nauseous  descriptions,  bugs,  fleas,  mosquitoes,  flies  innumerable, 
gigantic  as  the  empire  they  inhabit,  who  will  take  no  denial.  This  is 
the  land  of  Pharaoh  and  his  plagues,  —  Egypt  and  its  ophthalmia  and 
vermin,  without  its  fertility,  —  Holland,  without  its  wealth,  improve- 
ments, or  cleanliness." 

He  endured  St.  Petersburg  for  the  space  of  ten  days,  then 
sailed  for  England,  and  never  saw  Russia  again.  When  the  ap- 
propriation bill  was  before  Congress  at  the  next  session,  opposi 
tion  members  did  not  fail  to  call  in  question  the  justice  of  requir- 
ing the  people  of  the  United  States  to  pay  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars for  Mr.  Randolph's  ten  days'  work,  or,  to  speak  more  exactly, 
for  Mr.  Randolph's  apology  for  the  President's  bad  spelling ;  but 
the  item  passed,  nevertheless.  During  the  reign  of  Andrew 
Jackson,  Congress  was  little  more  than  a  board  of  registry  for  the 
formal  recording  of  his  edicts.  There  are  those  who  think,  at  the 
present  moment,  that  what  a  President  hath  done,  a  President 
may  do  again. 

It  was  fortunate  that  John  Randolph  was  in  retirement  when 
Calhoun  brought  on  his  Nullification  scheme.  The  presence  in 
Congress  of  a  man  so  eloquent  and  so  reckless,  whose  whole 
heart  and  mind  were  with  the  Nullifiers,  might  have  prevented 
the  bloodless  postponement  of  the  struggle.  He  was  in  con- 
stant correspondence  with  the  South  Carolina  leaders,  and  was 
fully  convinced  that  it  was  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
not "  the  Hamil'tons  and  Haynes  "  of  South  Carolina,  who  ought 
to  seize  the  first  pretext  to  concede  the  point  in  dispute.  No  cit- 
izen of  South  Carolina  was  more  indignant  than  he  at  General 
Jackson's  Proclamation.  He  said  that,  if  the  people  did  not 
rouse  themselves  to  a  sense  of  their  condition,  and  "  put  down 
this  wretched  old  man,"  the  country  was  irretrievably  ruined ; 
and  he  spoke  of  the  troops  despatched  to  Charleston  as  "  merce- 
naries,*' to  whom  he  hoped  "  no  quarter  would  be  given."  The 
"  wretched  old  man  "  whom  the  people  were  to  "  put  down  "  was 
Andrew  Jackson,  not  John  C.  Calhoun. 

We  do  not  forget  that,  when  John  Randolph  uttered  these 
words,  he  was  scarcely  an  accountable  being.  Disease  had  re- 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  217 

duced  hfm  to  a  skeleton,  and  robbed  him  of  almost  every  attri- 
bute of  man  except  his  capacity  to  suffer.  But  even  in  his  mad- 
ness he  was  a  representative  man,  and  spoke  the  latent  feeling 
of  his  class.  The  diseases  which  sharpened  his  temper  unloosed 
his  tongue ;  he  revealed  the  tendency  of  the  Southern  mind,  as  a 
petulant  child  reveals  family  secrets.  In  his  good  and  in  his  evil 
he  was  an  exaggerated  Southerner  of  the  higher  class.  He  was 
like  them,  too,  in  this :  they  are  not  criminals  to  be  punished,  but 
patients  to  be  cured.  Sometimes,  of  late,  we  have  feared  that 
they  resemble  him  also  in  being  incurable. 

As  long  as  Americans  take  an  interest  in  the  history  of  their 
country,  they  will  read  with  interest  the  strange  story  of  this  sick 
and  suffering  representative  of  sick  and  suffering  Virginia.  To 
the  last,  old  Virginia  wore  her  ragged  robes  with  a  kind  of  gran- 
deur which  was  not  altogether  unbecoming,  and  which  to  the 
very  last  imposed  upon  tory  minds.  Scarcely  any  one  could 
live  among  the  better  Southern  people  without  liking  them  and 
few  will  ever  read  Hugh  Garland's  Life  of  John  Randolph,  with  • 
out  more  than  forgiving  all  his  vagaries,  impetuosities,  and  foibles. 
Plow  often,  upon  riding  away  from  a  Southern  home,  have  we 
been  ready  to  exclaim,  "  What  a  pity  such  good  people  should  be 
so  accursed ! "  Lord  Russell  well  characterized  the  evil  to  which 
we  allude  as  "  that  fatal  gift  of  the  poisoned  garment  which  was 
flung  around  them  from  the  first  hour  of  their  establishment." 

The  last  act  of  John  Randolph's  life,  done  when  he  lay  dying 
at  a  hotel  in  Philadelphia,  in  June,  1833,  was  to  express  once 
more  his  sense  of  this  blighting  system.  Some  years  before,  he 
had  made  a  will  by  which  all  his  slaves  were  to  be  freed  at  his 
death.  He  would  probably  have  given  them  their  freedom  be- 
fore his  death,  but  for  the  fact,  too  evident,  that  freedom  to  a 
black  man  in  a  Slave  State  was  not  a  boon.  The  slaves  freed 
by  his  brother,  forty  years  before,  had  not  done  well,  because  (as 
he  supposed)  no  land  had  been  bequeathed  for  their  support. 
Accordingly,  he  left  directions  in  his  will  that  a  tract  of  land, 
which  might  be  of  four  thousand  acres,  should  be  set  apart  for  the 
maintenance  of  his  slaves,  and  that  they  should  be  transported 
to  it  and  established  upon  it  at  the  expense  oi  his  estate,  "  T 
10 


218  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

give  my  slaves  their  freedom,"  said  he  in  his  will,  "  to  which  my 
conscience  tells  me  they  are  justly  entitled."  On  the  last  day  of 
his  life,  surrounded  by  strangers,  and  attended  by  two  of  his  old 
servants,  his  chief  concern  was  to  make  distinctly  known  to  as 
many  persons  as  possible  that  it  was  really  his  will  that  his  slaves 
should  be  free.  Knowing,  as  he  did,  the  aversion  which  his  fel- 
low-citizens had  to  the  emancipation  of  slaves,  and  even  to  the 
presence  in  the  State  of  free  blacks,  he  seemed  desirous  of  taking 
away  every  pretext  for  breaking  his  will.  A  few  hours  before 
his  death,  he  said  to  the  physician  in  attendance :  "  I  confirm 
every  disposition  in  my  will,  especially  that  concerning  my  slaves 
whom  I  have  manumitted,  and  for  whom  I  have  made  provision." 
The  doctor,  soon  after,  took  leave  of  him,  and  was  about  to  de- 
part. "  You  must  not  go,"  said  he,  "  you  cannot,  you  shall  not 
leave  me."  He  told  his  servant  not  to  let  the  doctor  go,  and 
the  man  immediately  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key  in  his  pock- 
et. The  doctor  remonstrating,  Mr.  Randolph  explained,  that, 
by  the  laws  of  Virginia,  in  order  to  manumit  slaves  by  will,  it 
was  requisite  that  the  master  should  declare  his  will  in  that  par- 
ticular in  the  presence  of  a  white  witness,  who,  after  hearing  the 
declaration,  must  never  lose  sight  of  the  party  until  he  is  dead. 
The  doctor  consented,  at  length,  to  remain,  but  urged  that  more 
witnesses  should  be  sent  for.  This  was  done.  At  ten  in  the 
morning,  four  gentlemen  were  ranged  in  a  semicircle  round  his 
bed.  He  was  propped  up  almost  in  a  sitting  posture,  and  a  blan- 
ket was  wrapped  round  his  head  and  shoulders.  His  face  was 
yellow,  and  extremely  emaciated  ;  he  was  very  weak,  and  it  re- 
quired all  the  remaining  energy  of  his  mind  to  endure  the  exer- 
tion he  was  about  to  make.  It  was  evident  to  all  present  that 
his  whole  soul  was  in  the  act,  and  his  eye  gathered  fire  as  he 
performed  it.  Pointing  toward  the  witnesses  with  that  gesture 
which  for  so  many  years  had  been  familiar  to  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives, he  said,  slowly  and  distinctly:  "I  confirm  all  the 
directions  in  my  will  respecting  my  slaves,  and  direct  them  to  be 
3nforced,  particularly  in  regard  to  a  provision  for  their  support." 
Then,  raising  his  hand  and  placing  it  upon  the  shoulder  of  his 
servant,  he  added,  "  Especially  for  this  man."  Having  performed 


JOHN  RANDOLPH.  219 

this  act,  his  mind  appeared  relieved,  but  his  strength  immediate- 
ly left  him,  and  in  two  hours  he  breathed  his  last. 

The  last  of  the  Randolphs,  and  one  of  the  best  representatives 
of  the  original  masters  of  Virginia,  the  high-toned  Virginia  gentle- 
man, was  no  more.  Those  men  had  their  opportunity,  but  they 
had  not  strength  of  character  equal  to  it.  They  were  tried  and 
found  wanting.  The  universe,  which  loves  not  the  high-toned, 
even  in  violins,  disowned  them,  and  they  perished.  Cut  off  from 
the  life-giving  current  of  thought  and  feeling  which  kept  the  rest 
of  Christendom  advancing,  they  came  to  love  stagnation,  and 
looked  out  from  their  dismal,  isolated  pool  with  lofty  contempt  at 
the  gay  and  active  life  on  the  flowing  stream.  They  were  not 
teachable,  for  they  despised  the  men  who  could  have  taught 
them.  But  we  are  bound  always  to  consider  that  they  were  sub- 
jected to  a  trial  under  which  human  virtue  has  always  given 
way,  and  will  always.  Sudden  wealth  is  itself  sufficient  to  spoil 
any  but  the  very  best  men,  —  those  who  can  instantly  set  it  at 
work  for  the  general  good,  and  continue  to  earn  an  honest  liveli- 
hood by  faithful  labor.  But  those  tobacco  lords  of  Virginia,  be- 
sides making  large  fortunes  in  a  few  years,  were  the  absolute, 
irresponsible  masters  of  a  submissive  race.  And  when  these  two 
potent  causes  of  effeminacy  and  pride  had  worked  out  their  prop- 
er result  in  the  character  of  the  masters,  then,  behold !  their 
resources  fail.  Vicious  agriculture  exhausts  the  soil,  false  politi- 
cal economy  prevents  the  existence  of  a  middle  class,  and  the 
presence  of  slaves  repels  emigration.  Proud,  ignorant,  indolent, 
dissolute,  and  in  debt,  the  dominant  families,  one  after  another, 
passed  away,  attesting  to  the  last,  by  an  occasional  vigorous  shoot, 
the  original  virtue  of  the  stock.  All  this  poor  John  Randolph 
represented  and  was. 

Virginia  remains.  Better  men  will  live  in  it  than  have  ever 
yet  lived  there ;  but  it  will  not  be  in  this  century,  and  possibly 
not  in  the  next.  It  cannot  be  that  so  fair  a  province  will  not  be 
one  day  inhabited  by  a  race  of  men  who  will  work  according  to 
the  laws  of  nature,  and  whom,  therefore,  the  laws  of  nature  will 
co-operate  with  and  preserve.  How  superior  will  such  Virgini- 
ans be  to  what  Dr.  Francis  Lieber  styles  the  "  provincial  ego- 
tism "  of  State  sovereignty ! 


STEPHEN  GIEAED 

AND   HIS   COLLEGE. 


STEPHEN  GIEAKD  AND  HIS  COLLEGE. 


WITHIN  the  memory  of  many  persons  still  alive,  "old 
Girard,"  as  the  famous  banker  was  usually  styled,  a 
short,  stout,  brisk  old  gentleman,  used  to  walk,  in  his  swift, 
awkward  way,  the  streets  of  the  lower  part  of  Philadelphia. 
Though  everything  about  him  indicated  that  he  had  very  little  in 
common  with  his  fellow-citizens,  he  was  the  marked  man  of  the 
city  for  more  than  a  generation.  His  aspect  was  rather  insig- 
nificant and  quite  unprepossessing.  His  dress  was  old-fashioned 
and  shabby ;  and  he  wore  the  pig-tail,  the  white  neck-cloth,  the 
wide-brimmed  hat,  and  the  large-skirted  coat  of  the  last  century. 
He  was  blind  of  one  eye ;  and  though  his  bushy  eyebrows  gave 
some  character  to  his  countenance,  it  was  curiously  devoid  of 
expression.  He  had  also  the  absent  look  of  a  man  who  either 
had  no  thoughts  or  was  absorbed  in  thought;  and  he  shuffled 
along  on  his  enormous  feet,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left.  There  was  always  a  certain  look  of  the  old  mariner 
about  him,  though  he  had  been  fifty  years  an  inhabitant  of  the 
town.  When  he  rode  it  was  in  the  plainest,  least  comfortable 
gig  in  Philadelphia,  drawn  by  an  ancient  and  ill-formed  horse, 
driven  always  by  the  master's  own  hand  at  a  good  pace.  He 
chose  still  to  live  where  he  had  lived  for  fifty  years,  in  Water 
Street,  close  to  the  wharves,  in  a  small  and  inconvenient  house, 
darkened  by  tall  storehouses,  amid  the  bustle,  the  noise,  and  the 
odors  of  commerce.  His  sole  pleasure  was  to  visit  once  a  day  a 
little  farm  which  he  possessed  a  few  miles  out  of  town,  where  he 
was  wont  to  take  off  his  coat,  roll  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  per- 
sonally labor  in  the  field  and  in  the  barn,  hoeing  corn,  pruning 
trees,  tossing  hay,  and  not  disdaining  even  to  assist  in  butchering 


224  STEPHEN   GIBAED 

the  aninmJS  which  he  raised  for  market.  It  was  no  mere  orna- 
mental or  experimental  farm.  He  made  it  pay.  All  of  its  prod- 
uce was  carelully,  nay,  scrupulously  husbanded,  sold,  recorded, 
and  accounted  for.  He  loved  his  grapes,  his  plums,  his  pigs,  and 
especially  his  rare  breed  of  Canary-birds;  but  the  people  of 
Philadelphia  had  tile  full  benefit  of  their  increase,  —  at  the  high- 
est market  rates. 

Many  feared,  many  served,  but  none  loved  this  singular  and 
lonely  old  man.  If  there  was  among  the  very  few  who  habitually 
conversed  with  him  one  who  understood  and  esteemed  him,  there 
was  but  one ;  and  he  was  a  man  of  such  abounding  charity,  that, 
like  Uncle  Toby,  if  he  nad  heard  that  the  Devil  was  hopelessly 
damned,  he  would  have  said,  •'  I  am  sorry  for  it."  Never  was 
there  a  person  more  destitute  tnan  Girard  of  the  qualities  which 
win  the  affection  of  others.  His  temper  was  violent,  his  presence 
forbidding,  his  usual  manner  ungracious,  his  will  inflexible,  his 
heart  untender,  his  imagination  dead.  He  was  odious  to  many 
of  his  fellow-citizens,  who  considered  him  the  hardest  and  mean- 
est of  men.  He  had  lived  among  them  for  half  a  century,  but 
he  was  no  more  a  Philadelphian  in  1830  thau  ia  1776.  He  still 
spoke  with  a  French  accent,  and  accompanied  his  words  with  a 
French  shrug  and  French  gesticulation.  Surrounded  with  Chris- 
tian churches  which  he  had  helped  to  build,  he  remained  a  sturdy 
unbeliever,  and  possessed  the  complete  works  of  only  one  man, 
Voltaire.  He  made  it  a  point  of  duty  to  labor  on  Sunday,  as  a 
good  example  to  others.  He  made  no  secret  of  the  fact,  that  he 
considered  the  idleness  of  Sunday  an  injury  to  the  people,  moral 
and  economical.  He  would  have  opened  his  bank  on  Sundays, 
if  any  one  would  have  come  to  it.  For  his  part,  he  required  no 
rest,  and  would  have  none.  He  never  travelled.  He  never  at- 
tended public  assemblies  or  amusements.  He  had  no  affections 
to  gratify,  no  friends  to  visit,  no  curiosity  to  appease,  no  tastes  to 
indulge.  What  he  once  said  of  himself  appeared  to  be  true,  that 
he  rose  in  the  morning  with  but  a  single  object,  and  that  was  to 
labor  so  hard  all  day  as  to  be  able  to  sleep  all  night.  The  world 
was  absolutely  nothing  to  him  but  a  working-place.  He  scorned 
and  scouted  the  opinion,  that  old  men  should  cease  to  labor,  and 


AND  HIS  COLLEGE.  225 

should  Gpend  the  evening  of  their  days  in  tranquillity.  "  No,"  he 
would  say,  "  labor  is  the  price  of  life,  its  happiness,  its  every- 
thing ;  to  rest  is  to  rust ;  every  man  should  labor  to  the  last  hour 
of  his  ability."  Such  was  Stephen  Girard,  the  richest  man  who 
ever  lived  in  Pennsylvania. 

This  is  an  unpleasing  picture  of  a  citizen  of  polite  and  amiable 
Philadelphia.  It  were  indeed  a  grim  and  dreary  world  in  which 
should  prevail  the  principles  of  Girard.  But  see  what  this  man 
has  done  foi  the  city  that  loved  him  not!  Vast  and  imposing 
structures  rise  on  the  banks  of  the  Schuylkill,  wherein,  at  this 
hour,  six  hundred  poor  orphan  boys  are  fed,  clothed,  trained,  and 
taught,  upon  the  income  of  the  enormous  estate  which  he  won  by 
this  entire  consecration  to  the  work  of  accumulating  property.  In 
the  ample  grounds  of  Girard  College,  looking  up  at  its  five  mass- 
ive marble  edifices,  strolling  in  its  shady  walks  or  by  its  verdant 
play-grounds,  or  listening  to  the  cheerful  cries  of  the  boys  at 
play,  the  most  sympathetic  and  imaginative  of  men  must  pause 
before  censuring  the  sterile  and  unlovely  life  of  its  founder.  And 
if  he  should  inquire  closely  into  the  character  and  career  of  the 
man  who  willed  this  great  institution  into  being,  he  would  per- 
haps be  willing  to  admit  that  there  was  room  in  the  world  for 
one  Girard,  though  it  were  a  pity  there  should  ever  be  another. 
Such  an  inquiry  would  perhaps  disclose  that  Stephen  Girard  waa 
endowed  by  nature  with  a  great  heart  as  well  as  a  powerful 
mind,  and  that  circumstances  alone  closed  and  hardened  the  one, 
cramped  and  perverted  the  other.  It  is  not  improbable  that  he 
was  one  of  those  unfortunate  beings  who  desire  to  be  loved,  but 
whose  temper  and  appearance  combine  to  repel  affection.  His 
marble  statue,  which  adorns  the  entrance  to  the  principal  build- 
ing, if  it  could  speak,  might  say  to  us,  "  Living,  you  could  not 
understand  nor  love  me ;  dead,  I  compel  at  least  your  respect." 
Indeed,  he  used  to  say,  when  questioned  as  to  his  career,  "  Wait 
till  I  am  dead ;  my  deeds  will  show  what  I  was." 

Girard's  recollections  of  his  childhood  were  tinged  with  bitter- 
ness. He  was  born  at  Bordeaux  in  1750.  He  was  the  eldest 
of  the  five  children  of  Captain  Pierre  Girard,  a  mariner  of  sub- 
stance and  respectability.  He  used  to  complain  that,  while  his 
10*  o 


226  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

younger  brothers  were  taught  at  college,  his  own  education  was 
neglected,  and  that  he  acquired  at  home  little  more  than  the  abil- 
ity to  read  and  write.  He  remembered,  too,  that  at  the  age  of 
eight  years  he  discovered,  to  his  shame  and  sorrow,  that  one  of 
his  eyes  was  blind,  —  a  circumstance  that  exposed  him  to  the 
taunts  of  his  companions.  The  influence  of  a  personal  defect, 
and  of  the  ridicule  it  occasions,  upon  the  character  of  a  sensitive 
child,  can  be  understood  only  by  those  whose  childhood  was  em- 
bittered from  that  cause ;  but  such  cases  as  those  of  Byron  and 
Girard  should  teach  those  who  have  the  charge  of  youth  the 
crime  it  is  to  permit  such  defects  to  be  the  subject  of  remark. 
Girard  also  early  lost  his  mother,  an  event  which  soon  brought 
him  under  the  sway  of  a  step-mother.  Doubtless  he  was  a  wil- 
ful, arbitrary,  and  irascible  boy,  since  we  know  that  he  was  a  wil- 
ful, arbitrary,  and  irascible  man.  Before  he  was  fourteen,  having 
chosen  the  profession  of  his  father,  he  left  home,  with  his  father's 
consent,  and  went  to  sea  in  the  capacity  of  cabin-boy.  He  used 
to  boast,  late  in  life,  that  he  began  the  world  with  sixpence  in  his 
pocket.  Quite  enough  for  a  cabin-boy. 

For  nine  years  he  sailed  between  Bordeaux  and  the  French 
West  Indies,  returning  at  length  with  the  rank  of  first  mate,  or, 
as  the  French  term  it,  lieutenant  of  his  vessel.  He  had  well  im- 
proved his  time.  Some  of  the  defects  of  his  early  education  he 
had  supplied  by  study,  and  it  is  evident  that  he  had  become  a 
skilful  navigator.  It  was  then  the  law  of  France  that  no  man 
should  command  a  vessel  who  was  not  twenty-five  years  old,  and 
had  not  sailed  two  cruises  in  a  ship  of  the  royal  navy.  Girard 
was  but  twenty-three,  and  had  sailed  in  none  but  merchant-ves- 
sels. His  father,  however,  had  influence  enough  to  procure  him 
a  dispensation  ;  and  in  1773  he  was  licensed  to  command.  He 
appears  to  have  been  scarcely  just  to  his  father  when  he  wrote, 
lixty-three  years  after  :  "  I  have  the  proud  satisfaction  of  know- 
ing that  my  conduct,  my  labor,  and  my  economy  have  enabled 
me  to  do  one  hundred  times  more  for  my  relations  than  they  all 
together  have  ever  done  for  me  since  the  day  of  my  birth."  In 
the  mere  amount  of  money  expended,  this  may  have  been  true 
but  it  is  the  start  toward  fortune  that  is  so  difficult.  His  father, 


AND  HIS   COLLEGE.  227 

besides  procuring  the  dispensation,  assisted  him  to  purchase  goods 
for  his  first  commercial  venture.  At  the  age  of  twenty-four,  we 
find  him  sailing  to  the  "West  Indies  ;  not  indeed  in  command  of 
the  vessel,  but  probably  as  mate  and  supercargo,  and  part  owner 
of  goods  to  the  value  of  three  thousand  dollars.  He  never  trod 
his  native  land  again.  Having  disposed  of  his  cargo  and  taken 
on  board  another,  he  sailed  for  New  York,  which  he  reached  in 
July,  1774.  The  storm  of  war,  which  was  soon  to  sweep  com- 
merce from  the  ocean,  was  already  muttering  below  the  horizon, 
when  Stephen  Girard,  "  mariner  and  merchant,"  as  he  always 
delighted  to  style  himself,  first  saw  the  land  wherein  his  lot  was 
to  be  cast.  For  two  years  longer,  however,  he  continued  to 
exercise  his  twofold  vocation.  An  ancient  certificate,  preserved 
among  his  papers,  informs  the  curious  explorer,  that,  "  in  the 
year  1774,  Stephen  Girard  sailed  as  mate  of  a  vessel  from  New 
York  to  [New]  Orleans,  and  that  he  continued  to  sail  out  of  the 
said  port  until  May,  1776,  when  he  arrived  in  Philadelphia  com- 
mander of  a  sloop,"  of  which  the  said  Stephen  Girard  was  part 
owner. 

Lucky  was  it  for  Girard  that  he  got  into  Philadelphia  just 
when  he  did,  with  all  his  possessions  with  him.  He  had  the  nar- 
rowest escape  from  capture.  On  his  way  from  New  Orleans  to 
a  Canadian  port,  he  had  lost  himself  in  a  fog  at  the  entrance 
of  Delaware  Bay,  swarming  then  with  British  cruisers,  of  whose 
presence  Captain  Girard  had  heard  nothing.  His  flag  cf  distress 
brought  alongside  an  American  captain,  who  told  him  where  he 
was,  and  assured  him  that,  if  he  ventured  out  to  sea,  he  would 
never  reach  port  except  as  a  British  prize.  "Mon  Dieu!"  ex- 
claimed Girard  in  great  panic,  "  what  shall  I  do  ?"  "  You  have 
no  chance  but  to  push  right  up  to  Philadelphia,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain. "  How  am  I  to  get  there  ?  "  said  Girard ;  "  I  have  no 
pilot,  and  I  don't  know  the  way."  A  pilot  was  found,  who,  how- 
iver,  demanded  a  preliminary  payment  of  five  dollars,  which 
Girard  had  not  on  board.  In  great  distress,  he  implored  the 
captain  to  be  his  security  for  the  sum.  He  consented,  a  pilot 
took  charge  of  the  sloop,  the  anchor  was  heaved,  and  the  vessel 
Bped  on  her  way.  An  hour  later,  while  they  were  etill  in  sighl 


228  STEPHEN   GERARD 

of  the  anchorage,  a  British  man-of-war  came  within  the  capes. 
But  Dr.  Franklin,  with  his  oared  galleys,  his  chevaux  de  frise^ 
his  forts,  and  his  signal-stations,  had  made  the  Delaware  a  safe 
harbor  of  refuge ;  and  Girard  arrived  safely  at  Philadelphia  on 
one  of  the  early  days  of  May,  1776.  Thus  it  was  a  mere  chance 
of  war  that  gave  Girard  to  the  Quaker  City.  In  the  whole  world 
he  could  not  have  found  a  more  congenial  abode,  for  the  Quakers 
were  the  only  religious  sect  with  which  he  ever  had  the  slightest 
sympathy.  Quakers  he  always  liked  and  esteemed,  partly  be- 
cause they  had  no  priests,  partly  because  they  disregarded  orna- 
ment and  reduced  life  to  its  simplest  and  most  obvious  utilities, 
partly  because  some  of  their  opinions  were  in  accord  with  his 
own.  He  had  grown  up  during  the  time  when  Voltaire  was  sov- 
ereign lord  of  the  opinions  of  Continental  Europe.  Before  land- 
ing at  Philadelphia,  he  was  already  a  republican  and  an  unbe- 
liever, and  such  he  remained  to  the  last.  The  Declaration  of 
Independence  was  impending  :  he  was  ready  for  it.  The  "  Com 
mon  Sense  "  of  Thomas  Paine  had  appeared :  he  was  the  man  of 
all  others  to  enjoy  it.  It  is,  however,  questionable  if  at  that  time 
he  had  English  enough  to  understand  it  in  the  original,  since  the 
colloquy  just  reported  with  the  American  captain  took  place  in 
French.  He  was  slow  in  becoming  familiar  with  the  English 
language,  and  even  to  the  end  of  his  life  seemed  to  prefer  con- 
versing in  French. 

He  was  a  mariner  no  more.  The  great  fleet  of  Lord  Howe 
arrived  at  New  York  in  July.  Every  harbor  was  blockaded, 
and  all  commerce  was  suspended.  Even  the  cargoes  of  tobacco 
despatched  by  Congress  to  their  Commissioners  in  France,  for 
the  purchase  of  arms  and  stores,  were  usually  captured  before 
they  had  cleared  the  Capes.  Captain  Girard  now  rented  a  small 
store  in  Water  Street,  near  the  spot  where  he  lived  for  nearly 
sixty  years,  in  which  he  carried  on  the  business  of  a  grocer  and 
wine-bottler.  Those  who  knew  him  at  this  time  report  that  he 
was  a  taciturn,  repulsive  young  man,  never  associating  with  men 
of  his  own  age  and  calling,  devoted  to  business,  close  in  his  deal- 
ings, of  the  most  rigorous  economy,  and  preserving  still  the 
tough  clothing  and  general  appearance  of  a  sailor.  Though  but 


AND  HIS   COLLEGE.  229 

twenty-six  years  of  age,  he  was  called  "old  Girard.'  He 
seemed  conscious  of  bis  inability  to  please,  but  bore  the  derision  of 
his  neighbors  with  stoical  equanimity,  and  plodded  on. 

War  favors  the  skilful  and  enterprising  business-man.  Girard 
had  a  genius  for  business.  He  was  not  less  bold  in  his  operations 
than  prudent ;  and  his  judgment  as  a  man  of  business  was  well- 
nigh  infallible.  Destitute  of  all  false  pride,  he  bought  whatever 
he  thought  he  could  sell  to  advantage,  from  a  lot  of  damaged  cord- 
age to  a  pipe  of  old  port ;  and  he  labored  incessantly  with  his 
own  hands.  He  was  a  thriving  man  during  the  first  year  of  his 
residence  in  Philadelphia  ;  his  chief  gain,  it  is  said,  being  de- 
rived from  his  favorite  business  of  bottling  wine  and  cider. 

The  romance,  the  mystery,  the  tragedy  of  his  life  now  occurred. 
Walking  along  Water  Street  one  day,  near  the  corner  of  Vine 
Street,  the  eyes  of  this  reserved  and  ill-favored  man  were  caught 
by  a  beautiful  servant-girl  going  to  the  pump  for  a  pail  of  water. 
She  was  an  enchanting  brunette  of  sixteen,  with  luxuriant  black 
locks  curling  and  clustering  about  her  neck.  As  she  tripped 
along  with  bare  feet  and  empty  pail,  in  airy  and  unconscious 
grace,  she  captivated  the  susceptible  Frenchman,  who  saw  in  her 
the  realization  of  the  songs  of  the  forecastle  and  the  reveries  of 
the  quarter-deck.  He  sought  her  acquaintance,  and  made  him- 
self at  home  in  her  kitchen.  The  family  whom  she  served,  mis- 
interpreting the  designs  of  the  thriving  dealer,  forbade  him  the 
house ;  when  he  silenced  their  scruples  by  offering  the  girl  his 
hand  in  marriage.  Ill-starred  Polly  Lumm !  Unhappy  Girard  ! 
She  accepted  his  offer ;  and  in  July,  1777,  the  incongruous  two, 
being  united  in  matrimony,  attempted  to  become  one. 

The  war  interrupted  their  brief  felicity.  Philadelphia,  often 
threatened,  fell  into  the  hands  of  Lord  Howe  in  September, 
1777  ;  and  among  the  thousands  who  needlessly  fled  at  his  ap- 
proach were  "  old  Girard  "  and  his  pretty  young  wife.  He 
bought  a  house  at  Mount  Holly,  near  Burlington,  in  New  Jersey, 
for  five  hundred  dollars,  to  which  he  removed,  and  there  con- 
tinued to  bottle  claret  and  sell  it  to  the  British  officers,  until  the 
departure  of  Lord  Howe,  in  June,  1778,  permitted  his  return  to 
Philadelphia.  The  gay  young  olficers,  it  is  said,  who  came  to  his 


230  STEPHEN  GIRAED 

house  at  Mount  Holly  to  drink  his  claret,  were  far  from  being  in- 
BensibJe  to  the  charms  of  Mrs.  Girard ;  and  tradition  further  re- 
ports that  on  one  occasion  a  dashing  colonel  snatched  a  kiss, 
which  the  sailor  resented,  and  compelled  the  officer  to  apologize 
for. 

Of  all  miserable  marriages  this  was  one  of  the  most  miserable. 
Here  was  a  young,  beautiful,  and  ignorant  girl  united  to  a  close, 
ungracious,  eager  man  of  business,  devoid  of  sentiment,  with  a 
violent  temper  and  an  unyielding  will.  She  was  an  American, 
he  a  Frenchman ;  and  that  alone  was  an  immense  incompatibili- 
ty. She  was  seventeen,  he  twenty-seven.  She  was  a  woman ; 
he  was  a  man  without  imagination,  intolerant  of  foibles.  She 
was  a  beauty,  with  the  natural  vanities  of  a  beauty;  he  not 
merely  had  no  taste  for  decoration,  he  disapproved  it  on  princi- 
ple. These  points  of  difference  would  alone  have  sufficed  to  en- 
danger their  domestic  peace ;  but  time  developed  something  that 
was  fatal  to  it.  Their  abode  was  the  scene  of  contention  for 
eight  years ;  at  the  expiration  of  which  period  Mrs.  Girard 
showed  such  symptoms  of  insanity  that  her  husband  was  obliged 
to  place  her  in  the  Pennsylvania  Hospital.  In  these  distressing 
circumstances,  he  appears  to  have  spared  no  pains  for  her  resto- 
ration. He  removed  her  to  a  place  in  the  country,  but  without 
effect.  She  returned  to  his  house  only  to  render  life  insupport- 
able to  him.  He  resumed  his  old  calling  as  a  mariner,  and  made 
a  voyage  to  the  Mediterranean ;  but  on  his  return  he  found  his 
wife  not  less  unmanageable  than  before.  In  1790,  thirteen 
years  after  their  marriage,  and  five  after  the  first  exhibition  of 
insanity,  Mrs.  Girard  was  placed  permanently  in  the  hospital ; 
where,  nine  months  after,  she  gave  birth  to  a  female  child.  The 
child  soon  died ;  the  mother  never  recovered  her  reason.  For 
twenty-five  years  she  lived  in  the  hospital,  and,  dying  in  1815, 
was  buried  in  the  hospital  grounds  after  the  manner  of  the  Qua- 
kers. The  coffin  was  brought  to  the  grave,  followed  by  the  hus- 
band and  the  managers  of  the  institution,  who  remained  standing 
about  it  in  silence  for  several  minutes.  It  was  then  lowered  to 
its  final  resting-place,  and  again  the  company  remained  motion- 
less and  silent  for  a  while.  Girard  looked  at  the  coffin  once 


AND  HIS  COLLEGE.  231 

more,  then  turned  to  an  acquaintance  and  said,  as  he  walked 
away,  '  It  in  very  well."  A  green  mound,  without  headstone  or 
monument,  still  marks  the  spot  where  the  remains  of  this  unhap- 
py woman  repose.  Girard,  both  during  his  lifetime  and  after  his 
death,  was  a  liberal,  though  not  lavish,  benefactor  of  the  institu- 
tion which  had  so  long  sheltered  his  wife. 

Fortunes  were  not  made  rapidly  in  the  olden  time.  After  the 
Revolution,  Girard  engaged  in  commerce  with  the  West  Indies, 
in  partnership  with  his  brother  John  ;  and  he  is  described  in  an 
official  paper  of  the  time  as  one  who  "  carried  on  an  extensive 
business  as  a  merchant,  and  is  a  considerable  owner  of  real 
estate."  But  on  the  dissolution  of  the  partnership  in  1790, 
when  he  had  been  in  business,  as  mariner  and  merchant,  for  six- 
teen years,  his  estate  was  valued  at  only  thirty  thousand  dollars. 
The  times  were  troubled.  The  French  Revolution,  the  massacre 
at  St.  Domingo,  our  disturbed  relations  with  England,  and  after- 
wards with  France,  the  violence  of  our  party  contest?,  all  tended 
to  make  merchants  timid,  and  to  limit  their  operations.  Girard, 
as  his  papers  indicate,  and  as  he  used  to  relate  in  conversation, 
took  more  than  a  merchant's  interest  in  the  events  of  the  time. 
From  the  first,  he  had  formally  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  struggling 
Colonists,  as  we  learn  from  a  yellow  and  faded  document  left 
among  his  papers:  — 

"  I  do  hereby  certify  that  Stephen  Girard,  of  the  city  of  Philadelphia, 
merchant,  hath  voluntarily  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  and  fidelity,  as 
directed  by  an  act  of  the  General  Assembly  of  Pennsylvania,  passed 
the  13th  day  of  June,  A.  D.  1777.  Witness  my  hand  and  seal,  the 
27th  day  of  October,  A  D.  1778. 

"Jxo.  OKD. 

"No.  1678." 

The  oath  was  repeated  the  year  following.  When  the 
French  Revolution  had  divided  the  country  into  two  parties, 
the  Federalists  and  the  Republicans,  Girard  was  a  Republican 
of  the  radical  school.  He  remembered  assisting  to  raise  a  liber- 

o 

ty-pole  in  the  Presidency  of  John  Adams ;  and  he  was  one  of 
Mr.  Jefferson's  most  uncompromising  adherents  at  a  time  when 
men  of  substance  were  seldom  found  in  the  ranks  of  the  Demoo- 


2^2  STEPHEN  GIRARD 

racy.     As  long  as  he  lived,  he  held  the  name  of  Thomas  Jeffer- 
son in  veneration. 

We  have  now  to  contemplate  this  cold,  close,  ungainly,  ungra- 
cious man  in  a  new  character.  We  are  to  see  that  a  man  may 
seem  indifferent  to  the  woes  of  individuals,  but  perform  sublime 
acts  of  devotion  to  a  community.  We  are  to  observe  that  there 
are  men  of  sterling  but  peculiar  metal,  who  only  shine  when  the 
furnace  of  general  affliction  is  hottest.  In  1793,  the  malignant 
yellow-fever  desolated  Philadelphia.  The  consternation  of  the 
people  cannot  be  conceived  by  readers  of  the  present  day,  be- 
cause we  cannot  conceive  of  the  ignorance  which  then  prevailed 
respecting  the  laws  of  contagion,  because  we  have  lost  in  some 
degree  the  habit  of  panic,  and  because  no  kind  of  horror  can  be 
as  novel  to  us  as  the  yellow-fever  was  to  the  people  of  Philadel- 
phia in  1793.  One  half  of  the  population  fled.  Those  who  re- 
mained left  their  houses  only  when  compelled.  Most  of  the 
churches,  the  great  Coffee-House,  the  Library,  were  closed. 
Of  four  daily  newspapers,  only  one  continued  to  be  published. 
Some  people  constantly  smoked  tobacco,  —  even  womer  and 
children  did  so ;  others  chewed  garlic ;  others  exploded  gun- 
powder; others  burned  nitre  or  sprinkled  vinegar;  many  as- 
siduously whitewashed  every  surface  within  their  reach ;  some 
carried  tarred  rope  in  their  hands,  or  bags  of  camphor  round 
their  necks ;  others  never  ventured  abroad  without  a  handker- 
chief or  a  sponge  wet  with  vinegar  at  their  noses.  No  one  ven- 
tured to  shake  hands.  Friends  who  met  in  the  streets  gave  each 
other  a  wide  berth,  eyed  one  another  askance,  exchanged  nods, 
and  strode  on.  It  was  a  custom  to  walk  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,  to  get  as  far  from  the  houses  as  possible.  Many  of  the 
sick  died  without  help,  and  the  dead  were  buried  without  cere- 
mony. The  horrid  silence  of  the  streets  was  broken  only  by  the 
tread  of  litter-bearers  and  the  awful  rumble  of  the  dead-wagon. 
Whole  families  perished,  —  perished  without  assistance,  their  fate 
unknown  to  their  neighbors.  Money  was  powerless  to  buy  at- 
tendance, for  the  operation  of  all  ordinary  motives  was  sus- 
pended. From  the  1st  of  August  to  the  9th  of  November,  in 
a  population  of  twenty-five  thousand,  there  were  four  thousand 
and  thirty -one  burials,  —  about  one  in  six. 


AND  HIS  COLLEGE.  233 

Happily  for  the  honor  of  human  nature,  there  are  always,  in 
times  like  these,  great  souls  whom  base  panic  canrot  prostrate. 
A  few  brave  physicians,  a  few  faithful  clergymen,  a  few  high- 
minded  citizens,  a  few  noble  women,  remembered  and  practised 
what  is  dne  to  humanity  overtaken  by  a  calamity  like  this.  On 
the  10th  of  September,  a  notice,  without  signature,  appeared  in 
the  only  paper  published,  stating  that  all  but  three  of  the  Visit- 
ors of  the  Poor  were  sick,  dead,  or  missing,  and  calling  upon  all 
who  were  willing  to  help  to  meet  at  the  City  Hall  on  the  12th. 
From  those  who  attended  the  meeting,  a  committee  of  twenty- 
seven  was  appointed  to  superintend  the  measures  for  relief,  of 
whom  Stephen  Girard  was  one.  On  Sunday,  the  15th,  the  com- 
mittee met ;  and  the  condition  of  the  great  hospital  at  Bush  Hill 
was  laid  before  them.  It  was  unclean,  ill-regulated,  crowded,  and 
ill-supplied.  Nurses  could  not  be  hired  at  any  price,  for  even  to 
approach  it  was  deemed  certain  death.  Then,  to  the  inexpressi- 
ble astonishment  and  admiration  of  the  committee,  two  men  of 
wealth  and  importance  in  the  city  offered  personally  to  take 
charge  of  the  hospital  during  the  prevalence  of  the  disease. 
Girard  was  one  of  these,  Peter  Helm  the  other.  Girard  appears 
to  have  been  the  first  to  offer  himself.  "  Stephen  Girard,"  re- 
cords Matthew  Carey,  a  member  of  the  committee,  "  sympathiz- 
ing with  the  wretched  situation  of  the  sufferers  at  Bush  Hill, 
voluntarily  and  unexpectedly  offered  himself  as  a  manager  to  su- 
perintend that  hospital.  The  surprise  and  satisfaction  excited  by 
this  extraordinary  effort  of  humanity  can  be  better  conceived  than 
expressed." 

That  very  afternoon,  Girard  and  Helm  went  out  to  the  hospi- 
tal, and  entered  upon  their  perilous  and  repulsive  duty.  Girard 
chose  the  post  of  honor.  He  took  charge  of  the  interior  of  the 
hospital,  while  Mr.  Helm  conducted  its  out-door  affairs.  For 
sixty  days  he  continued  to  perform,  by  day  and  night,  all  the  dis- 
tressing and  revolting  offices  incident  to  the  situation.  In  the 
great  scarcity  of  help,  he  used  frequently  to  receive  the  sick  and 
dying  at  the  gate,  assist  in  carrying  them  to  their  beds,  nurse 
them,  receive  their  last  messages,  watch  for  thei  r  last  breath,  and 
then,  wrapping  them  in  the  sheet  they  had  died  upon,  carry  them 


234  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

out  to  tfoi  burial-ground,  and  place  them  in  the  trench.  He  had 
a  vivid  recollection  of  the  difficulty  of  finding  any  kind  of  fabi-iC 
in  which  to  wrap  the  dead,  when  the  vast  number  of  intermenta 
had  exhausted  the  supply  of  sheets.  "  I  would  put  them,"  he 
would  say,  "in  any  old  rag  I  could  find."  If  he  ever  left  the 
hospital,  it  was  to  visit  the  infected  districts,  and  assist  in  remov- 
ing the  sick  from  the  houses  in  which  they  were  dying  without 
help.  One  scene  of  this  kind,  witnessed  by  a  merchant,  who  was 
hurrying  past  with  camphored  handkerchief  pressed  to  his  mouth, 
affords  us  a  vivid  glimpse  of  this  heroic  man  engaged  in  his  sub- 
lime vocation.  A  carriage,  rapidly  driven  by  a  black  man,  broke 
the  silence  of  the  deserted  and  grass-grown  street.  It  stopped 
before  a  frame  house  ;  and  the  driver,  first  having  bound  a  hand- 
kerchief over  his  mouth,  opened  the  door  of  the  carriage,  and 
quickly  remounted  to  the  box.  A  short,  thick-set  man  stepped 
from  the  coach  and  entered  the  house.  In  a  minute  or  two,  the 
observer,  who  .stood  at  a  safe  distance  watching  the  proceedings, 
heard  a  shuffling  noise  in  the  entry,  and  soon  saw  the  stout  little 
man  supporting  with  extreme  difficulty  a  tall,  gaunt,  yellow- 
visaged  victim  of  the  pestilence.  Girard  held  round  the  waist 
the  sick  man,  whose  yellow  face  rested  against  his  own ;  his  long, 
damp,  tangled  hair  mingled  with  Girard's ;  his  feet  dragging 
helpless  upon  the  pavement.  Thus  he  drew  him  to  the  carriage 
door,  the  driver  averting  his  face  from  the  spectacle,  far  from 
offering  to  assist.  Partly  dragging,  partly  lifting,  he  succeeded, 
after  long  and  severe  exertion,  in  getting  him  into  the  vehicle. 
He  then  entered  it  himself,  closed  the  door,  and  the  carriage 
drove  away  towards  the  hospital. 

A  man  who  can  do  such  things  at  such  a  time  may  commit 
errors  and  cherish  erroneous  opinions,  but  the  essence  of  that 
which  makes  the  difference  between  a  good  man  and  a  bad  man 
must  dwell  within  him.  Twice  afterwards  Philadelphia  was 
visited  by  yellow-fever,  in  1797  and  1798.  On  both  occasions, 
Girard  took  the  lead,  by  personal  exertion  or  gifts  of  money,  in 
relieving  the  poor  and  the  sick.  He  had  a  singular  taste  for 
nursing  the  sick,  though  a  sturdy  unbeliever  in  medicine.  Ac- 
cording to  him,  nature,  not  doctors,  is  the  restorer,  —  nature, 


AND  HIS   COLLEGE.  23.1 

aided  by  good  nursing.  Thus,  after  the  yellow-fever  of  1798,  he 
wrote  to  a  friend  in  France :  "  During  all  this  frightful  time,  I 
have  constantly  remained  in  the  city ;  and,  without  neglecting  my 
public  duties,  I  have  played  a  part  which  will  make  you  smile. 
Would  you  believe  it,  my  friend,  that  I  have  visited  as  many  as 
fifteer  ^iek  people  in  a  day?  and  what  will  surprise  you  still 
more,  I  have  lost  only  one  patient,  an  Irishman,  who  would  drink 
a  little.  I  do  not  flatter  myself  that  I  have  cured  one  single 
person ;  but  you  will  think  with  me,  that  in  my  quality  of  Phila- 
delphia physician  I  have  been  very  moderate,  and  that  not  one  of 
my  confreres  has  killed  fewer  than  myself." 

It  is  not  by  nursing  the  sick,  however,  that  men  acquire 
colossal  fortunes.  We  revert,  therefore,  to  the  business  career 
of  this  extraordinary  man.  Girard,  in  the  ancient  and  honorable 
acceptation  of  the  term,  was  a  merchant;  i.  e.  a  «ian  who  sent 
his  own  ships  to  foreign  countries,  and  exchanged  their  products 
for  those  of  his  own.  Beginning  in  the  West  India  trade,  with 
one  small  schooner  built  with  difficulty  and  managed  with  cau- 
tion, he  expanded  his  business  as  his  capital  increased,  until  he 
was  the  owner  of  a  fleet  of  merchantmen,  and  brought  home  to 
Philadelphia  the  products  of  every  clime.  Beginning  with  single 
voyages,  his  vessels  merely  sailing  to  a  foreign  port  and  back 
again,  he  was  accustomed  at  length  to  project  great  mercantile 
cruises,  extending  over  long  periods  of  time,  and  embracing  many 
ports.  A  shij.  loaded  with  cotton  and  grain  would  sail,  for 
example,  to  Bordeaux,  there  discharge,  and  take  in  a  cargo  of 
wine  and  fruit ;  thence  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  she  would  ex- 
change her  wine  and  fruit  for  hemp  and  iron  ;  then  to  Amster- 
dam, where  the  hemp  and  iron  would  be  sold  for  dollars  ;  to  Cal- 
cutta next  for  a  cargo  of  tea  and  silks,  with  which  the  ship  would 
return  to  Philadelphia.  Such  were  the  voyages  so  often  success- 
fully made  by  the  Voltaire,  the  Rousseau,  the  Helvetius,  and  the 
Montesquieu  ;  ships  long  the  pride  of  Girard  and  the  boast  of 
Philadelphia,  their  names  being  the  tribute  paid  by  the  merchant 
to  the  literature  of  his  native  land.  He  seldom  failed  to  make 
very  large  profits.  He  rarely,  if  ever,  lost  a  ship. 

His  neighbors,  the  merchants  of  Philadelphia,  deemed  him  a 


236  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

lucky  mail.  Many  of  them  thought  they  could  do  as  well  as  he, 
if  they  only  had  his  luck.  But  the  great  volumes  of  his  letters 
and  papers,  preserved  in  a  room  of  the  Girard  College,  show  that 
his  success  in  business  was  not  due,  in  any  degree  whatever,  to 
good  fortune.  Let  a  money-making  generation  take  note,  that 
Girard  principles  inevitably  produce  Girard  results.  The  grand, 
the  fundamental  secret  of  his  success,  as  of  all  success,  was  that 
he  understood  Ms  business.  He  had  a  personal,  familiar  knowl- 
edge of  the  ports  with  which  he  traded,  the  commodities  in  which 
he  dealt,  the  vehicles  in  which  they  were  carried,  the  dangers  to 
which  they  were  liable,  and  the  various  kinds  of  men  through 
whom  he  acted.  He  observed  everything,  and  forgot  nothing. 
He  had  done  everything  himself  which  he  had  occasion  to  re- 
quire others  to  do.  His  directions  to  his  captains  and  super- 
cargoes, full,  minute,  exact,  peremptory,  show  the  hand  of  a 
master.  Every  possible  contingency  was  foreseen  and  provided 
for ;  and  he  demanded  the  most  literal  obedience  to  the  maxim, 
"  Obey  orders,  though  you  break  owners."  He  would  dismiss  a 
captain  from  his  service  forever,  if  he  saved  the  whole  profits  of 
a  voyage  by  departing  from  his  instructions.  He  did  so  on  one 
occasion.  Add  to  this  perfect  knowledge  of  his  craft,  that  he  had 
a  self-control  which  never  permitted  him  to  anticipate  his  gains 
or  spread  too  wide  his  sails ;  that  his  industry  knew  no  pause ; 
that  he  was  a  close,  hard  bargainer,  keeping  his  word  to  the  let- 
ter, but  exacting  his  rights  to  the  letter ;  that  he  had  no  vices 
and  no  vanities ;  that  he  had  no  toleration  for  those  calamities 
which  result  from  vices  and  vanities ;  that  his  charities,  though 
frequent,  were  bestowed  only  upon  unquestionably  legitimate 
objects,  and  were  never  profuse ;  that  he  was  as  wise  in  invest- 
ing as  skilful  in  gaining  money ;  that  he  made  his  very  pleasures 
profitable  to  himself  in  money  gained,  to  his  neighborhood  in  im- 
proved fruits  and  vegetables  ;  that  he  had  no  family  to  maintain 
and  indulge;  that  he  held  in  utter  aversion  and  contempt  the 
costly  and  burdensome  ostentation  of  a  great  establishment,  fine 
equipages,  and  a  retinue  of  servants ;  that  he  reduced  himself  to 
a  money-making  machine,  run  at  the  minimum  of  expense ;  — • 
and  we  have  an  explanation  of  his  rapidly  acquired  wealth.  He 


AND   HIS  COLLEGE.  237 

used  to  boast,  after  he  was  a  millionnaire,  of  wearing  the  same 
overcoat  for  fourteen  winters ;  and  one  of  his  clerks,  who  saw 
him  every  day  for  twenty  years,  declares  that  he  never  remem- 
bered having  seen  him  wear  a  new-looking  garment  but  once. 
Let  us  note,  too,  that  he  was  an  adept  in  the  art  of  getting  men 
to  serve  him  with  devotion.  He  paid  small  salaries,  and  was 
never  known  in  his  life  to  bestow  a  gratuity  upon  one  who  served 
him ;  but  he  knew  how  to  make  his  humblest  clerk  feel  that  the 
master's  eye  was  upon  him  always.  Violent  in  his  outbreaks  of 
anger,  his  business  letters  are  singularly  polite,  and  show  con- 
sideration for  the  health  and  happiness  of  his  subordinates. 

Legitimate  commerce  makes  many  men  rich  ;  but  in  Girard's 
day  no  man  gained  by  it  ten  millions  of  dollars.  It  was  the  war 
of  1812,  which  suspended  commerce,  that  made  this  merchant  so 
enormously  rich  In  1811,  the  charter  of  the  old  United  States 
Bank  expired ;  and  the  casting-vote  of  Vice-President  George 
Clinton  negatived  the  bill  for  rechartering  it.  When  war  was 
imminent,  Girard  had  a  million  dollars  in  the  bank  of  Baring 
Brothere  in  London.  This  large  sum,  useless  then  for  purposes 
of  commerce,  —  in  peril,  too,  from  the  disturbed  condition  of 
English  finance,  —  he  invested  in  United  States  stock  and  in 
stock  of  the  United  States  Bank,  both  being  depreciated  in  Eng- 
land. Being  thus  a  large  holder  of  the  stock  of  the  bank,  the 
charter  having  expired,  and  its  affairs  being  in  liquidation,  he 
bought  out  the  entire  concern  ;  and,  merely  changing  the  name  to 
Girard's  Bank,  continued  it  in  being  as  a  private  institution,  in 
the  same  building,  with  the  same  coin  in  its  vaults,  the  same 
bank-notes,  the  same  cashier  and  clerks.  The  banking-house  and 
the  house"  of  the  cashier,  which  cost  three  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars,  he  bought  for  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand. 
The  stock,  which  he  bought  at  four  hundred  and  twenty,  proved 
to  be  worth,  on  the  winding  up  of  the  old  bank,  four  hundred  and 
thirty-four.  Thus,  by  this  operation,  he  extricated  his  property 
in  England,  invested  it  wisely  in  America,  established  a  new 
business  in  place  of  one  that  could  no  longer  be  carried  on,  and 
saved  the  mercantile  community  from  a  considerable  part  of  the 
loss  and  embarrassment  which  the  total  annihilation  of  the  bank 
would  have  occasioned. 


238  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

His  management  of  the  bank  perfectly  illustrates  his  singulai 
and  apparently  contradictory  character.  Hamilton  used  to  say  of 
Burr,  that  he  was  great  in  little  things,  and  little  in  great  things. 
Girard  in  little  things  frequently  seemed  little,  but  in  great  things 
he  was  often  magnificently  great.  For  example :  the  old  bank 
had  been  accustomed  to  present  an  overcoat  to  its  watchman 
every  Christmas  ;  Girard  forbade  the  practice  as  extravagant ;  — « 
the  old  bank  had  supplied  penknives  gratis  to  its  clerks  ;  Girard 
made  them  buy  their  own ;  —  the  old  bank  had  paid  salaries 
which  were  higher  than  those  given  in  other  banks ;  Girard  cut 
them  down  to  the  average  rate.  To  the  watchman  and  the  clerks 
this  conduct,  doubtless,  seemed  little.  Without  pausing  to  argue 
the  question  with  them,  let  us  contemplate  the  new  banker  in  his 
great  actions.  He  was  the  very  sheet-anchor  of  the  government 
credit  during  the  whole  of  that  disastrous  war.  If  advances  were 
required  at  a  critical  moment,  it  was  Girard  who  was  promptest 
to  make  them.  When  all  other  banks  and  houses  were  contract- 
ing, it  was  Girard  who  stayed  the  panic  by  a  timely  and  liberal 
expansion.  When  all  other  paper  was  depreciated,  Girard's 
notes,  and  his  alone,  were  as  good  as  gold.  In  1814,  when  the 
credit  of  the  government  was  at  its  lowest  ebb,  when  a  loan  of 
five  millions,  at  seven  per  cent  interest  and  twenty  dollars  bonus, 
was  up  for  weeks,  and  only  procured  twenty  thousand  dollars,  it 
was  "  old  Girard  "  who  boldly  subscribed  for  the  whole  amount ; 
which  at  once  gave  it  market  value,  and  infused  life  into  the 
paralyzed  credit  of  the  nation.  Again,  in  1816,  when  the  sub- 
scriptions lagged  for  the  new  United  States  Bank,  Girard  waited 
until  the  la^t  day  for  receiving  subscriptions,  and  then  quietly 
subscribed  for  the  whole  amount  not  taken,  which  was  three  mil- 
lion one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  And  yet  again,  in  1829, 
when  the  enormous  expenditures  of  Pennsylvania  upon  her  ca- 
nals had  exhausted  her  treasury  and  impaired  her  credit,  it  was 
Girard  who  prevented  the  total  suspension  of  the  public  worka 
by  a  loan  to  the  Governor,  which  the  assembling  Legislature 
might  or  might  not  reimburse. 

Once,  during  the  war,  the  control  of  the  coin  in  the  bank  pro- 
cured him  a  signal  advantage.     In  the  spring  of  1813,  his  fina 


AND  ffiS   COLLEGE.  239 

ship,  the  Montesquieu,  crammed  with  tea  and  fabrics  from  China, 
was  captured  by  a  British  shallop  when  she  was  almost  within 
Delaware  Bay.  News  of  the  disaster  reaching  Girard,  he  sent 
orders  to  his  supercargo  to  treat  for  a  ransom.  The  British 
admiral  gave  up  the  vessel  for  one  hundred  and  eighty  thousand 
dollars  in  coin ;  and,  despite  this  costly  ransom,  the  cargo  yielded 
a  larger  profit  than  that  of  any  ship  of  Girard's  during  the  whole 
of  his  mercantile  career.  Tea  was  then  selling  at  war  prices. 
Much  of  it  brought,  at  auction,  two  dollars  and  fourteen  cents  a 
pound,  more  than  four  times  its  cost  hi  China.  He  appears  to 
have  gained  about  half  a  million  of  dollars. 

From  the  close  of  the  war  to  the  end  of  his  life,  a  period  of 
sixteen  years,  Girard  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  as  keen 
and  steady  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth,  and  as  careful  in  preserving 
it,  as  though  his  fortune  were  still  insecure.  Why  was  this  ? 
We  should  answer  the  question  thus  :  Because  his  defective  edu- 
cation left  him  no  other  resource.  We  frequently  hear  the  "  suc- 
cess "  of  such  men  as  Astor  and  Girard  adduced  as  evidence  of 
the  uselessness  of  early  education.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  precise- 
ly such  men  who  prove  its  necessity ;  since,  when  they  have 
conquered  fortune,  they  know  not  how  to  avail  themselves  of  its 
advantages.  When  Franklin  had,  at  the  age  of  forty-two,  won  a 
moderate  competence,  he  could  turn  from  business  to  science,  and 
from  science  to  the  public  service,  using  money  as  a  means  to  the 
noblest  ends.  Strong-minded  but  unlettered  men,  like  Girard, 
who  cannot  be  idle,  must  needs  plod  on  to  the  end,  adding  super- 
fluous millions  to  their  estates.  In  Girard's  case,  too,  there  was 
another  cause  of  this  entire  devotion  to  business.  His  domestic 
Borrows  had  estranged  him  from  mankind,  and  driven  him  into 
himself.  Mr.  Henry  W.  Arey,  the  very  able  and  high-minded 
Secretary  of  Girard  College,  in  whose  custody  are  Girard's  pa- 
pers, is  convinced  that  it  was  not  the  love  of  money  which  kept 
him  at  work  early  and  late  to  the  last  days  of  his  life. 

"  No  one,"  he  remarks,  "  who  has  had  access  to  his  private  papers, 
can  fail  to  become  impressed  with  the  belief  that  these  early  disap- 
pointments furnish  the  true  key  to  his  entire  character.  Originally 
of  warm  and  generous  impulses,  the  belief  in  childhood  that  he  had  not 


240  STEPHEN   GIEARD 

been  given  his  share  of  the  love  and  kindness  which  were  extended  ta 
others  changed  the  natural  current  of  his  feelings,  and,  acting  on  a 
warm  and  passionate  temperament,  alienated  him  from  his  home,  his 
parents,  and  his  friends.  And  when  in  after  time  there  were  super- 
added  the  years  of  bitter  anguish  resulting  from  his  unfortunate  and 
ill-adapted  marriage,  rendered  even  more  poignant  by  the  necessity  of 
concealment,  and  the  consequent  injustice  of  public  sentiment,  and 
marring  all  his  cherished  expectations,  it  may  be  readily  understood 
why  constant  occupation  became  a  necessity,  and  labor  a  pleasure." 

Girard  himself  confirms  this  opinion.  In  one  of  his  letters  of 
1820,  to  a  friend  in  New  Orleans,  he  says  :  — 

"  I  observe  with  pleasure  that  you  have  a  numerous  family,  that  you 
are  happy  and  in  the  possession  of  an  honest  fortune.  This  is  all  that 
a  wise  man  has  the  right  to  wish  for.  As  to  myself,  I  live  like  a  gal- 
ley-slave, constantly  occupied,  and  often  passing  the  night  without  sleep- 
ing. I  am  wrapped  up  in  a  labyrinth  of  affairs,  and  worn  out  with 
care.  I  do  not  value  fortune.  The  love  of  labor  is  my  highest  ambi- 
tion. You  perceive  that  your  situation  is  a  thousand  times  preferabla 
to  mine." 

In  his  lifetime,  as  we  have  remarked,  few  men  loved  Girard, 
Btill  fewer  understood  him.  He  was  considered  mean,  hard, 
avaricious.  If  a  rich  man  goes  into  a  store  to  buy  a  yard  of 
cloth,  no  one  expects  that  he  will  give  five  dollars  for  it  when  the 
price  is  four.  But  there  is  a  universal  impression  that  it  is 
"  handsome  "  in  him  to  give  higher  wages  than  other  people  to 
those  who  serve  him,  to  bestow  gratuities  upon  them,  and,  espe- 
cially, to  give  away  endless  sums  in  charity.  The  truth  is,  how- 
ever, that  one  of  the  duties  which  a  rich  man  owes  to  society  is  to 
be  careful  not  to  disturb  the  law  of  supply  and  demand  by  giving 
more  money  for  anything  than  a  fair  price,  and  not  to  encourage 
improvidence  and  servility  by  inconsiderate  and  profuse  gifts. 
Girard  rescued  his  poor  relations  in  France  from  want,  and  edu- 
cated nieces  and  nephews  in  his  own  house  ;  but  his  gifts  to  them 
were  not  proportioned  to  his  own  wealth,  but  to  their  circum- 
stances. His  design  evidently  was  to  help  them  as  much  as 
would  do  them  good,  but  not  so  much  as  to  injure  them  as  self- 
Bustaining  members  of  society.  And  surely  it  was  well  for  every 
clerk  in  his  bank  to  know  that  all  he  had  to  expect  from  the  rich 


AND  mS  COLLEGE.  241 

Girard  was  only  what  he  would  have  received  if  he  had  served 
another  bank.  The  money  which  in  loose  hands  might  have  re- 
laxed the  arm  of  industry  and  the  spirit  of  independence,  which 
might  have  pampered  and  debased  a  retinue  of  menials,  and 
drawn  around  the  dispenser  a  crowd  of  cringing  beggars  and  ex- 
pectants, was  invested  in  solid  houses,  which  Girard's  books  show 
yielded  him  a  profit  of  three  per  cent,  but  which  furnished  to 
many  families  comfortable  abodes  at  moderate  rents.  To  the 
most  passionate  entreaties  of  failing  merchants  for  a  loan  to  help 
them  over  a  crisis,  he  was  inflexibly  deaf.  They  thought  it 
meanness.  But  we  can  safely  infer  from  Girard's  letters  and 
conversation  that  he  thought  it  an  injury  to  the  community  to 
avert  from  a  man  of  business  the  consequences  of  extravagance 
and  folly,  which,  in  his  view,  were  the  sole  causes  of  failure.  If 
there  was  anything  that  Girard  utterly  despised  and  detested,  it 
was  that  vicious  mode  of  doing  business  which,  together  with  ex- 
travagant living,  causes  seven  business  men  in  ten  to  fail  every 
ten  years.  We  are  enabled  to  state,  however,  on  the  best  au- 
thority, that  he  was  substantially  just  to  those  whom  he  employed, 
and  considerately  kind  to  his  own  kindred.  At  least  he  meant  to 
be  kind ;  he  did  for  them  what  he  really  thought  was  for  their 
good.  To  little  children,  and  to  them  only,  he  was  gracious  and 
affectionate  in  manner.  He  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  had 
a  child  to  caress  and  play  with. 

After  the  peace  of  1815,  Girard  began  to  consider  what  he 
should  do  with  his  millions  after  his  death.  He  was  then  sixty- 
five,  but  he  expected  and  meant  to  live  to  a  good  age.  "  The 
Russians,"  he  would  say,  when  he  was  mixing  his  olla  podrida  of 
a  Russian  salad,  "  understand  best  how  to  eat  and  drink  ;  and  1 
am  going  to  see  how  long,  by  following  their  customs,  I  can  live." 
He  kept  an  excellent  table ;  but  he  became  abstemious  as  he 
grew  older,  and  lived  chiefly  on  his  salad  and  his  good  claret.  En- 
joying perfect  health,  it  was  not  until  about  the  year  1828,  when 
he  was  seventy-eight  years  of  age,  that  he  entered  upon  the  se- 
rious consideration  of  a  plan  for  the  final  disposal  of  his  immense 
estate.  Upon  one  point  his  mind  had  been  long  made  up.  "  No 
man,"  said  he,  "  shall  be  a  gentleman  on  my  money."  He  often, 
II  p 


242  STEPHEN  GIRARD 

said  that,  even  if  he  had  had  a  son,  he  should  have  been  brought 
up  to  labor,  and  should  not,  by  a  great  legacy,  be  exempted  from 
the  necessity  of  labor.  "  If  I  should  leave  him  twenty  thousand 
dollars,"  he  said,  "  he  would  be  lazy  or  turn  gambler."  Very 
likely.  The  son  of  a  man  like  Girard,  who  was  virtuous  without 
being  able  to  make  virtue  engaging,  whose  mind  was  strong  but 
rigid  and  ill-furnished,  commanding  but  uninstructive,  is  likely  to 
have  a  barren  mind  and  rampant  desires,  the  twin  causes  of  de- 
bauchery. His  decided  inclination  was  to  leave  the  bulk  of  his 
property  for  the  endowment  of  an  institution  of  some  kind  for  the 
benefit  of  Philadelphia.  The  only  question  was,  what  kind  of  in- 
stitution it  should  be. 

William  J.  Duane*  was  his  legal  adviser  then,  —  that  honest 
and  intrepid  William  J.  Duane  who,  a  few  years  later,  stood 
calmly  his  ground  on  the  question  of  the  removal  of  the  deposits 
against  the  infuriate  Jackson,  the  Kitchen  Cabinet,  and  the 
Democratic  party.  Girard  felt  all  the  worth  of  this  able  and 
honorable  lawyer.  With  him  alone  he  conversed  upon  the  pro- 
jected institution  ;  and  Mr.  Duane,  without  revealing  his  purpose, 
made  inquiries  among  his  travelled  friends  respecting  the  endowed 
establishments  of  foreign  countries.  For  several  months  before 
sitting  down  to  prepare  the  will,  they  never  met  without  convers- 
ing upon  this  topic,  which  was  also  the  chief  subject  of  discourse 
between  them  on  Sunday  afternoons,  when  Mr.  Duane  invariably 
dined  at  Mr.  Girard's  country-house.  A  home  for  the  education 
of  orphans  was  at  length  decided  upon,  and  then  the  will  was 
drawn.  For  three  weeks  the  lawyer  and  his  client  were  closeted, 
toiling  at  the  multifarious  details  of  that  curious  document. 

The  minor  bequests  were  speedily  arranged,  though  they  were 
numerous  and  well  considered.  He  left  to  the  Pennsylvania 
Hospital,  thirty  thousand  dollars ;  to  the  Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylum, 
twenty  thousand ;  to  the  Orphan  Asylum,  ten  thousand ;  to  the 
Lancaster  public  schools,  the  same  sum ;  the  same  for  providing 
fuel  for  the  poor  in  Philadelphia ;  the  same  to  the  Society  for  the 
Relief  of  Distressed  Sea-Captains  and  their  families;  to  the 

•  The  facts  which  follow  I  received  from  tho  lips  and  from  the  papers  of  thii 
revered  man,  now  no  more.  —  J.  P. 


AND  HIS   COLLEGE.  243 

Freemasons  of  Pennsylvania,  for  the  relief  of  poor  members 
twenty  thousand;  six  thousand  for  the  establishment  of  a  free 
school  in  Passyunk,  near  Philadelphia ;  to  his  surviving  brother) 
and  to  his  eleven  nieces,  he  left  sums  varying  from  five  thousand 
dollars  to  twenty  thousand ;  but  to  one  of  his  nieces,  who  had  a 
very  large  family,  he  left  sixty  thousand  dollars.  To  each  of  the 
captains  who  had  made  two  voyages  in  his  service,  and  who  should 
bring  his  ship  safely  into  port,  he  gave  fifteen  hundred  dollars  ; 
and  to  each  of  his  apprentices,  five  hundred.  To  his  old  servants, 
he  left  annuities  of  three  hundred  and  five  hundred  dollars  each. 
A  portion  of  his  valuable  estates  in  Louisiana  he  bequeathed  to 
the  corporation  of  New  Orleans,  for  the  improvement  of  that  city. 
Half  a  million  he  left  for  certain  improvements  in  the  city  of 
Philadelphia ;  and  to  Pennsylvania,  three  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  for  her  canals.  The  whole  of  the  residue  of  his  property, 
worth  then  about  six  millions  of  dollars,  he  devoted  to  the  con- 
struction and  endowment  of  a  College  for  Orphans. 

Accustomed  all  his  life  to  give  minute  directions  to  those 
whom  he  selected  to  execute  his  designs,  he  followed  the  same 
system  in  that  part  of  his  will  which  related  to  the  College.  The 
whole  will  was  written  out  three  times,  and  some  parts  of  it  more 
than  three.  He  strove  most  earnestly,  and  so  did  Mr.  Duane,  to 
make  every  paragraph  so  clear  that  no  one  could  misunderstand 
it.  No  candid  person,  sincerely  desirous  to  understand  his  inten- 
tions, has  ever  found  it  difficult  to  do  so.  He  directed  that  the 
buildings  should  be  constructed  of  the  most  durable  materials, 
"avoiding  useless  ornament,  attending  chiefly  to  the  strength, 
convenience,  and  neatness  of  the  whole."  That,  at  least,  is  plain. 
He  then  proceeded  to  direct  precisely  what  materials  should  bft 
used,  and  how  they  should  be  used  ;  prescribing  the  number  of 
buildings,  their  size,  the  number  and  size  of  the  apartments  in 
each,  the  thickness  of  each  wall,  giving  every  detail  of  construc- 
tion, as  he  would  have  given  it  to  a  builder.  He  then  gave 
briefer  directions  as  to  the  management  of  the  institution.  The 
orphans  were  to  be  plainly  but  wholesomely  fed,  clothed,  and 
lodged ;  instructed  in  the  English  branches,  in  geometry,  natural 
philosophy,  the  French  and  Spanish  languages,  and  whatever  else 


244  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

might  be  deemed  suitable  and  beneficial  to  them.  "I  would  have 
them,"  says  the  will,  "  taught  facts  and  things,  rather  than  words 
or  signs."  At  the  conclusion  of  the  course,  the  pupils  were  to  bo 
apprenticed  to  "  suitable  occupations,  as  those  of  agriculture,  nav- 
igation, arts,  mechanical  trades,  and  manufactures." 

The  most  remarkable  passage  of  the  will  is  the  following. 
The  Italics  are  those  of  the  original  document. 

"  I  enjoin  and  require  that  no  ecclesiastic,  missionary,  or  minister  of 
any  sect  whatsoever,  shall  ever  hold  or  exercise  any  station  or  duty  what- 
ever in  the  said  College ;  nor  shall  any  such  person  ever  be  admitted  for 
any  purpose,  or  as  a  visitor,  within  the  premises  appropriated  to  the  pur- 
poses of  the  said  College.  In  making  this  restriction,  I  do  not  mean  to 
cast  any  reflection  upon  any  sect  or  person  whatsoever ;  but  as  there  is 
such  a  multitude  of  sects,  and  such  a  diversity  of  opinion  amongst  them, 
I  desire  to  keep  the  tender  minds  of  the  orphans,  who  are  to  derive 
advantage  from  this  bequest,  free  from  the  excitement  which  clashing 
doctrines  and  sectarian  controversy  are  so  apt  to  produce ;  my  desire  is, 
that  all  the  instructors  and  teachers  in  the  College  shall  take  pains  to 
instil  into  the  minds  of  the  scholars  the  purest  principles  of  morality,  so 
that,  on  their  entrance  into  active  life,  they  may,/rom  inclination  and 
habit,  evince  benevolence  toward  their  fellow-creatures,  and  a  love  of 
truth,  sobriety,  and  industry,  adopting  at  the  same  time  such  religious 
tenets  as  their  matured  reason  may  enable  them  to  prefer." 

When  Mr.  Duane  had  written  this  passage  at  Girard's  dicta- 
tion, a  conversation  occurred  between  them,  which  revealed,  per- 
haps, one  of  the  old  gentleman's  reasons  for  inserting  it.  "  What 
do  you  think  of  that?"  asked  Girard.  Mr.  Duane,  being  unpre- 
pared to  comment  upon  such  an  unexpected  injunction,  replied, 
after  a  long  pause,  "  I  can  only  say  now,  Mr.  Girard,  that  I  think 
it  will  make  a  great  sensation."  Girard  then  said,  "  I  can  tell 
you  something  else  it  will  do,  —  it  will  please  the  Quakers."  He 
gave  another  proof  of  his  regard  for  the  Quakers  by  naming  three 
of  them  as  the  executors  of  his  will ;  the  whole  number  of  the 
executors  being  five. 

In  February,  1830,  the  will  was  executed,  and  deposited  in 
Mr.  Girard's  iron  safe.  None  but  the  two  men  who  had  drawn 
the  will,  and  the  three  men  who  witnessed  the  signing  of  it, 
were  aware  of  its  existence ;  and  none  but  Girard  and  Mr.  Du« 


AND  mS   COLLEGE.  245 

ane  had  the  least  knowledge  of  its  contents.  There  never  was 
sucL  a  keeper  of  his  own  secrets  as  Girard,  and  never  a  more 
faithful  keeper  of  other  men's  secrets  than  Mr.  Duane.  And 
here  we  have  another  illustration  of  the  old  man's  character. 
He  had  just  signed  a  will  of  unexampled  liberality  to  the  public; 
and  the  sum  which  he  gave  the  able  and  devoted  lawyer  for  his 
three  weeks'  labor  in  drawing  it  was  three  hundred  dollars ! 

Girard  lived  nearly  two  years  longer,  always  devoted  to  busi- 
ness, and  still  investing  his  gains  with  care.  An  accident  in  the 
street  gave  a  shock  to  his  constitution,  from  which  he  never  fully 
recovered;  and  in  December,  1831,  when  he  was  nearly  eighty- 
two  years  of  age,  an  attack  of  influenza  terminated  his  life. 
True  to  his  principles,  he  refused  to  be  cupped,  or  to  take  drugs 
into  his  system,  though  both  were  prescribed  by  a  physician 
whom  he  respected. 

Death  having  dissolved  the  powerful  spell  of  a  presence  which 
few  men  had  been  able  to  resist,  it  was  to  be  seen  how  far  his 
will  would  be  obeyed,  now  that  he  was  no  longer  able  personally 
to  enforce  it.  The  old  man  lay  dead  in  his  house  in  Water 
Street.  While  the  public  out  of  doors  were  curious  enough  to 
learn  what  he  had  done  with  his  money,  there  was  a  smaller 
number  within  the  house,  the  kindred  of  the  deceased,  in  whom 
this  curiosity  raged  like  a  mania.  They  invaded  the  cellars  of 
the  house,  and,  bringing  up  bottles  of  the  old  man's  choice  wine, 
kept  up  a  continual  carouse.  Surrounding  Mr.  Duane,  who  had 
been  present  at  Mr.  Girard's  death,  and  remained  to  direct  his 
funeral,  they  demanded  to  know  if  there  was  a  will.  To  silence 
their  indecent  clamor,  he  told  them  there  was,  and  that  he  was 
one  of  the  executors.  On  hearing  this,  their  desire  to  learn  its 
contents  rose  to  fury.  In  vain  the  executors  reminded  them 
that  decency  required  that  the  will  should  not  be  opened  till  after 
the  funeral.  They  even  threatened  legal  proceedings  if  the  will 
were  not  immediately  produced ;  and  at  length,  to  avoid  a  public 
scandal,  the  executors  consented  to  have  it  read.  These  affec- 
tionate relatives  being  assembled  in  a  parlor  of  the  house  in 
which  the  body  of  their  benefacto:  lay,  the  will  was  taken  from 
the  iron  safe  by  one  of  the  executors.* 

*  Mr.  Duane.  N 


246  STEPHEN   GIRAED 

When  he  had  opened  it,  and  was  about  to  begin  to  read,  he 
chanced  to  look  over  the  top  of  the  document  at  the  company 
seated  before  him.  No  artist  that  ever  held  a  brush  could  depict 
the  passion  of  curiosity,  the  frenzy  of  expectation,  expressed  in 
that  group  of  pallid  faces.  Every  individual  among  them  ex- 
pected to  leave  the  apartment  the  conscious  possessor  of  millions, 
for  no  one  had  dreamed  of  the  probability  of  his  leaving  the  bulk 
of  his  estate  to  the  public.  If  they  had  ever  heard  of  his  saying 
that  no  one  should  be  gentleman  upon  his  money,  they  had  for- 
gotten or  disbelieved  it.  The  opening  paragraphs  of  the  will  all 
tended  to  confirm  their  hopes,  since  the  bequests  to  existing  insti- 
tutions were  of  small  amount.  But  the  reader  soon  reached  the 
part  of  the  will  which  assigned  to  ladies  and  gentlemen  present 
such  trifling  sums  as  five  thousand  dollars,  ten  thousand,  twenty 
thousand ;  and  he  arrived  erelong  at  the  sections  which  disposed 
of  millions  for  the  benefit  of  great  cities  and  poor  children.  Some 
of  them  made  not  the  slightest  attempt  to  conceal  their  disap- 
pointment and  disgust.  Men  were  there  who  had  married  with 
a  view  to  share  the  wealth  of  Girard,  and  had  been  waiting  years 
for  his  death.  Women  were  there  who  had  looked  to  that  event 
as  the  beginning  of  their  enjoyment  of  life.  The  imagination  of 
the  reader  must  supply  the  details  of  a  scene  which  we  might 
think  dishonored  human  nature,  if  we  could  believe  that  human 
nature  was  meant  to  be  subjected  to  such  a  strain.  It  had  been 
better,  perhaps,  if  the  rich  man,  in  his  own  lifetime,  had  made 
his  kindred  partakers  of  his  superabundance,  especially  as  he  had 
nothing  else  that  he  could  share  with  them.  They  attempted,  on 
grounds  that  seem  utterly  frivolous,  to  break  the  will,  and  em- 
ployed the  most  eminent  counsel  to  conduct  their  cause,  but  with- 
out effect.  They  did,  however,  succeed  in  getting  the  property 
acquired  after  the  execution  of  the  will ;  which  Girard,  disregard- 
ing the  opinion  of  Mr.  Duane,  attempted  by  a  postscript  to  include 
in  the  will.  "  It  will  not  stand,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  Yes  it  will," 
said  Girard.  Mr.  Duane,  knowing  his  man,  was  silent ;  and  the 
courts  have  since  decided  that  his  opinion  was  correct. 

Thirty-three  years  have  passed  since  the  city  of  Philadelphia 
entered  upon  the  possession  of  the  enormous  and  growing  estate 


AND  HIS   COLLEGE.  247 

witb  which  Mr.  Girard  intrusted  it.  It  is  a  question  of  general 
interest  how  the  trust  has  been  administered.  No  citizen  of  Phil- 
adelphia needs  to  be  informed,  that,  in  some  particulars,  the  gov- 
ernment of  their  city  has  shown  little  more  regard  to  the  manifest 
will  of  Girard  than  his  nephews  and  nieces  did.  If  he  were  to 
revisit  the  banks  of  the  Schuylkill,  would  he  recognize,  in  the 
splendid  Grecian  temple  that  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  College 
grounds,  the  home  for  poor  orphans,  devoid  of  needless  ornament, 
which  he  directed  should  be  built  there  ?  It  is  singular  that  the 
very  ornaments  which  Girard  particularly  disliked  are  those 
which  have  been  employed  in  the  erection  of  this  temple ;  name- 
ly, pillars.  He  had  such  an  aversion  to  pillars,  that  he  had  at 
one  time  meditated  taking  down  those  which  supported  the  por- 
tico of  his  bank.  Behold  his  College  surrounded  with  thirty-four 
Corinthian  columns,  six  feet  in  diameter  and  fifty-nine  in  height, 
of  marble,  with  capitals  elaborately  carved,  each  pillar  having 
cost  thirteen  thousand  dollars,  and  the  whole  colonnade  four 
hundred  and  forty  thousand !  And  this  is  the  abode  of  poor 
little  boys,  who  will  leave  the  gorgeous  scene  to  labor  in  shops, 
and  to  live  in  such  apartments  as  are  usually  assigned  to  appren- 
tices ! 

Now  there  is  probably  no  community  on  earth  where  the  num- 
ber of  honorable  men  bears  a  larger  proportion  to  the  whole  pop« 
ulation  than  in  Philadelphia.  Philadelphia  is  a  community  of 
honest  dealers  and  faithful  workmen.  It  is  a  matter  of  the  high- 
est interest  to  know  how  it  could  happen  that,  in  such  a  city,  a 
bequest  for  such  a  purpose  should  be  so  monstrously  misappro- 
priated. 

The  magnitude  of  the  bequest  was  itself  one  cause  of  its  mis- 
appropriation, and  the  habits  of  the  country  were  another.  When 
we  set  about  founding  an  institution,  our  first  proceeding  is  to 
erect  a  vast  and  imposing  edifice.  When  we  pronounce  the  word 
College,  a  vision  of  architecture  is  called  up.  It  was  natural, 
therefore,  that  the  people  of  Philadelphia,  bewildered  by  the  un- 
precedented amount  of  the  donation,  should  look  to  see  the  mo- 
notony of  their  city  relieved  by  something  novel  and  stupendous 
in  the  way  of  a  building ;  and  there  appears  to  have  been  no  one 


248  STEPHEN   GTRARD 

to  remind  them  that  tne  value  of  a  school  depends  wholly  upon 
the  teachers  who  conduct  it,  provided  those  teachers  are  free  to 
execute  their  plans.  The  immediate  cause,  however,  of  the  re- 
markable departure  from  the  will  in  the  construction  of  the  prin- 
cipal edifice  was  this :  the  custody  of  the  Girard  estate  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  politicians  of  the  city,  who  regarded  the  patron- 
age appertaining  thereunto  as  part  of  the  "  spoils  "  of  victory  at 
the  polls.  As  we  live  at  a  time  when  honest  lovers  of  their 
country  frequently  meditate  on  the  means  of  rescuing  important 
public  interests  from  the  control  of  politicians,  we  shall  not  deem 
a  little  of  our  space  ill  bestowed  in  recounting  the  history  of  the 
preposterous  edifice  which  Girard's  money  paid  for,  and  which 
Girard's  will  forbade. 

On  this  subject  we  can  avail  ourselves  of  the  testimony  of  the 
late  Mr.  Duane.  During  his  own  lifetime  he  would  not  per- 
mit the  following  narrative  to  be  published,  though  he  allowed  it 
to  be  used  as  a  source  of  information.  We  can  now  give  it  in  his 
own  words :  — 

"  In  relation  to  the  Girard  College,  the  whole  community  of  Philadel- 
phia, and  all  political  parties  in  zV,  are  culpable.  At  the  time  of  Mr. 
Girard's  death  there  was  a  mixture  of  Democrats  and  Federalists  in  our 
Councils :  the  former  preponderating  in  number.  It  is  said  that  of  all 
steps  the  first  is  the  most  important,  and  that  the  first  proceeding  has 
either  a  good  or  a  bad  influence  in  all  that  follow.  Now,  -what  was 
the  first  step  of  the  Democratic  Councils,  after  Mr.  Girard's  death,  in  re- 
lation to  the  College  ?  Were  they  satisfied  with  the  plan  of  it  as  de- 
scribed in  his  will  ?  Did  they  scout  the  project  of  building  a  palace 
for  poor  orphans  ?  Were  there  no  views  to  offices  and  profits  under 
the  trust  ?  As  I  was  in  the  Select  Council  at  the  time  myself,  I  can 
partly  answer  these  questions.  Instead  of  considering  the  plan  of  a 
College  given  in  the  will  a  good  one,  the  Democratic  Councils  offered 
rewards  to  architects  for  other  plans.  And  as  to  offices,  some  members 
of  Councils  looked  forward  to  them,  to  say  nothing  of  aspirants  out  of 
doors. 

'*  I  have  ever  been  a  Democrat  in  principle  myself,  but  not  so  much 
of  a  modern  one  in  practice  as  to  pretend  that  the  Democratic  party 
are  free  from  blame  as  to  the  College.  If  they  had  been  content  with 
Mr.  Girard's  plain  plan,  would  they  have  called  in  architects  for  others  ? 


AND  HIS   COLLEGE.  24& 

If  they  had  been  opposed  to  pillars  and  ornaments,  why  did  they  invite 
scientific  men  to  prepare  pictures  and  plans  almost  inevitably  orna- 
mental ?  If  they  had  been  so  careful  of  the  trust  funds,  why  did  they 
stimulate  the  community,  by  presenting  to  them  architectural  drawings, 
to  prefer  some  one  of  them  to  the  simple  plan  of  Girard  himself?  Be- 
sides, after  they  had  been  removed  from  power,  and  saw  preparations 
made  for  a  temple  surrounded  with  costly  columns,  why  did  they  not 
invoke  the  Democratic  Legislature  to  arrest  that  proceeding  ?  If  they 
at  any  time  whatever  did  make  such  an  appeal,  I  have  no  recollection 
of  it.  For  party  effect,  much  may  have  been  said  and  done  on  an 
election  day,  but  I  am  not  aware  that  otherwise  any  resistance  was 
made.  No  doubt  there  were  many  good  men  in  the  Democratic  party 
in  1831-2,  and  there  always  have  been  many  good  men  in  it;  but  I 
doubt  whether  those  who  made  the  most  noise  about  the  College  on 
election  days  were  either  the  best  Democrats  or  the  best  men.  The 
leaders,  as  they  are  called,  were  just  as  factious  as  the  leaders  of  their 
opponents.  The  struggle  of  both  for  the  Girard  Fund  was  mainly  with 
a  view  to  party  influence.  How  much  at  variance  with  Mr.  Girard's 
wishes  this  course  was,  may  readily  be  shown. 

"  Immediately  after  his  death  in  1831,  his  will  was  published  in  the 
newspapers,  in  almanacs,  and  in  other  shapes  likely  to  make  its  contents 
universally  known.  In  it  he  said  :  '  In  relation  to  the  organization  of 
the  College  and  its  appurtenances,  I  leave  necessarily  many  details  to 
the  mayor,  aldermen,  and  citizens  of  Philadelphia,  and  their  successors ; 
and  I  do  so  with  the  more  confidence,  as,  from  the  nature  of  my  be- 
quests and  the  benefit  to  result  from  them,  I  trust  that  my  fellow-citi- 
zens will  observe  and  evince  especial  care  and  anxiety  in  selecting 
members  for  their  City  Councils  and  other  agents.' 

"  What  appeal  could  have  been  more  emphatic  than  this  ?  How 
could  the  testator  have  more  delicately,  but  clearly,  indicated  his  anx- 
iety that  his  estate  should  be  regarded  as  a  sacred  provision  for  poor 
orphans,  and  not  '  spoils '  for  trading  politicians  ? 

"  In  this  city,  however,  as  almost  everywhere  else,  to  the  public  dis- 
credit and  injury,  our  social  affairs  had  been  long  mingled  with  the 
party  questions  of  the  Republic.  At  each  rise  or  fall  of  one  or  the 
other  party,  the  '  spoils '  were  greedily  sought  for.  Even  scavengers, 
unless  of  the  victorious  party,  were  deemed  unworthy  to  sweep  our 
streets.  Mr.  Girard's  estate,  therefore,  very  soon  became  an  obje<  >t  of 
desire  with  each  party,  in  order  to  increase  its  strength  and  favd  itt 
adherents.  Instead  of  selecting  for  the  Councils  the  best  men  of  th» 
whole  community,  as  Mr.  Girard  evidently  desired,  the  citizens  of  PhP 
II* 


250  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

adelphia  persisted  in  preserving  factious  distinctions,  and  in  Octooer 
1832,  the  Federal  candidates  prevailed. 

"The  triumphant  party  soon  manifested  a  sense  of  their  newly  ac- 
quired power.  Without  making  any  trial  whatever  of  the  efficiency 
of  the  rules  prepared  by  their  predecessors  for  the  management  of  the 
Girard  trusts,  they  at  once  abolished  them ,  and  there  were  various 
other  analogous  evidences  of  intolerance. 

"  Without  asserting  that  party  passions  actuated  them,  certain  it  is, 
that  those  who  were  now  in  power  placed  none  of  Mr.  Girard's  inti- 
mate friends  in  any  position  where  they  could  aid  in  carrying  out  his 
views.  No  serious  application  was  ever  made,  to  my  knowledge,  to 
one  of  them  for  explanation  on  any  point  deemed  doubtful.  On  the 
contrary,  objections  made  by  myself  and  others  to  the  erection  of  a 
gorgeous  temple,  instead  of  a  plain  building  for  orphans,  were  utterly 
disregarded. 

"  A  majority  of  the  citizens  of  Philadelphia  as  a  political  class,  and 
not  a  majority  as  a  social  community,  as  trustees  of  a  fund  for  orphans, 
having  thus  got  entire  control  of  the  Girard  estate,  they  turned  their 
attention  to  the  plans  of  a  College  collected  by  their  Democratic  pre- 
decessors. Neither  of  the  parties  appears  to  have  originally  considered 
whether  the  plan  described  in  the  will  ought  not  to  be  followed,  if  that 
could  be  done  practically.  The  main  desire  of  both  so  far  seems  to 
have  been  to  build  in  the  vicinity  of  this  city  a  more  magnificent 
edifice  than  any  other  in  the  Union. 

"  At  this  time,  Mr.  Nicholas  Biddle  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  power. 
Hundreds  of  persons,  who  at  the  present  day  find  fault  with  him,  were 
then  his  worshippers.  He  could  command  any  post  which  he  was  will- 
ing to  fill.  I  do  not  pretend  that  he  sought  any  post,  but  it  suited  his 
inclinations  to  be  at  the  head  of  those  who  were  intrusted  by  Coun- 
cils with  the  construction  of  the  College.  Over  his  colleagues  in  this, 
as  in  another  memorable  instance,  he  seems  to  have  had  an  absolute 
control.  The  architect,  also,  whose  plan  had  been  preferred,  appears 
to  have  considered  himself  bound  to  adapt  it  to  Mr.  Biddle's  concep- 
tions of  true  excellence.  And  you  now  behold  the  result,  —  a  splendid 
temple  in  an  unfinished  state,  instead  of  the  unostentatious  edifice  con- 
templated by  Mr.  Girard. 

"  Is  all  this  surprising  ?  Why  should  Democrats  think  it  so  ?  It  was 
by  them  that  plans  and  pictures  of  architects  were  called  for.  Why 
should  their  opponents  be  astonished  ?  It  was  by  them  that  a  carte 
blanche  seems  to  have  been  given  to  Mr.  Biddle  in  relation  to  the  plans 
and  the  College.  Is  Mr.  Biddle  culpable  ?  Is  there  no  excuse  for  one 


AND   HIS   COLLEGE.  251 

BO  strongly  tempted  as  he  was,  not  merely  to  produce  a  splendid  edi- 
fice, but  to  connect  his  name,  in  some  measure,  with  that  of  its  found- 
er ?  While  I  am  not  an  apologist  for  Mr.  Biddle,  I  am  not  willing  to 
cast  blame  upon  him  alone  for  the  waste  of  time  and  money  that  we 
have  witnessed.  As  a  classical  scholar,  a  man  of  taste,  and  a  traveller 
abroad,  it  was  not  unnatural  that  he  should  desire  to  see  near  his  na- 
tive city  the  most  magnificent  edifice  in  North  America.  Having  all 
the  pride  and  sense  of  power  which  adulation  is  calculated  to  produce, 
the  plain  house  described  in  his  will  may  have  appeared  to  him  a  prof- 
anation of  all  that  is  beautiful  in  architecture,  and  an  outrage  at  once 
against  all  the  Grecian  orders.  In  short,  the  will  of  Mr.  Girard  to  the 
contrary,  Mr.  Biddle,  like  another  distinguished  person,  may  have 
said, '  I  take  the  responsibility ! ' 

"  It  is  true  that  this  responsibility  was  a  serious  one,  but  less  so  to 
Mr.  Biddle  than  to  the  City  Councils.  They  were  the  trustees,  and 
ought  to  have-  considered  Mr.  Girard's  will  as  law  to  them.  They 
should  have  counted  the  cost  of  departing  from  it.  They  ought  to 
have  reflected  that  by  departing  from  it  many  orphans  would  be  ex- 
cluded from  the  benefits  of  education.  They  should  have  considered 
whether  a  Grecian  temple  would  be  such  a  place  as  poor  orphans 
destined  to  labor  ought  to  be  reared  in.  The  Councils  of  1832-3, 
therefore,  have  no  apology  to  offer.  But  Mr.  Biddle  may  well  say  to 
all  our  parties  :  '  You  are  all  more  in  fault  than  I  am.  You  Demo- 
crats gave  rewards  for  plans.  You  Federalists  submitted  those  plans 
to  me,  and  I  pointed  out  thfl  one  I  thought  the  best,  making  improve- 
ments upon  it.  A  very  few  persons,  Mr.  Ronaldson,  Mr.  Duane,  and 
one  or  two  others  alone  objected ;  while  the  majority  of  my  fellow- 
citizens,  the  Councils,  and  the  Legislature,  all  looked  on  at  what  I  was 
doing,  and  were  silent.' " 

While  erecting  an  edifice  the  most  opposite  to  Girard's  inten- 
tions that  could  be  contrived  by  man,  the  architect  was  permitted 
to  follow  the  directions  of  the  will  in  minor  particulars,  that  ren- 
dered the  building  as  inconvenient  as  it  was  magnificent.  The 
vaulted  ceilings  of  those  spacious  rooms  reverberated  to  such  a 
degree,  that  not  a  class  could  say  its  lesson  in  them  till  they  were 
hung  with  cotton  cloth.  The  massive  walls  exuded  dampness 
continually.  The  rooms  of  the  uppermost  story,  lighted  only 
from  above,  were  so  hot  in  the  summer  as  to  be  useless ;  and  the 
\ower  rooms  were  so  cold  in  winter  as  to  endanger  the  health  of 


252  STEPHEN   GIEARD 

the  inmates.  It  has  required  ingenuity  and  expense  to  render 
the  main  building  habitable ;  but  even  now  the  visitor  cannot  but 
smile  as  he  compares  the  splendor  of  the  architecture  with  the 
homely  benevolence  of  its  purpose.  The  Parthenon  was  a  suit- 
able dwelling-place  for  a  marble  goddess,  but  the  mothers  of 
Athens  would  have  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  consigning  their 
little  boys  to  dwell  in  its  chilling  grandeurs. 

"We  can  scarcely  overstate  the  bad  effect  of  this  first  mistake. 
It  has  constantly  tended  to  obscure  Mr.  Girard's  real  purpose, 
which  was  to  afford  a  plain,  comfortable  home,  and  a  plain,  sub- 
stantial education  to  poor  orphans,  destined  to  gain  their  livelihood 
by  labor.  Always  there  have  been  two  parties  in  the  Board  of 
Directors :  one  favoring  a  scheme  which  would  make  the  College 
a  college  ;  the  other  striving  to  keep  it  down  to  the  modest  level 
of  the  founder's  intentions.  That  huge  and  dazzling  edifice 
seems  always  to  have  been  exerting  a  powerful  influence  against 
the  stricter  constructionists  of  the  will.  It  is  only  within  the  last 
two  years  that  this  silent  but  ponderous  argument  has  been  par- 
tially overcome  by  the  resolute  good-sense  of  a  majority  of  the 
Directors.  Not  the  least  evil  consequent  upon  the  erection  of 
this  building  was,  that  the  delay  in  opening  the  College  caused 
the  resignation  of  its  first  President,  Alexander  D.  Bache,  a  gen- 
tleman who  had  it  in  him  to  organize  the  institution  aright,  and 
give  it  a  fair  start.  It  is  a  curious  fact,  that  the  extensive  report 
by  this  gentleman  of  his  year's  observation  of  the  orphan  schools 
of  Europe  has  not  been  of  any  practical  use  in  the  organization 
of  Girard  College.  Either  the  Directors  have  not  consulted  it, 
or  they  have  found  nothing  in  it  available  for  their  purpose. 

The  first  class  of  one  hundred  pupils  was  admitted  to  the  Col- 
lege on  the  first  day  of  the  year  1848.  The  number  of  inmates 
ia  now  six  hundred.  The  estate  will  probably  enable  the  Direc- 
tors to  admit  at  length  as  many  as  fifteen  hundred.  It  will  "be 
«een,  therefore,  that  Girard  College,  merely  from  the  number  of 
its  pupils,  is  an  institution  of  great  importance. 

Sixteen  years  have  gone  by  since  the  College  was  opened, 
but  it  cannot  yet  be  said  that  the  policy  of  the  Directors  is  fixed. 
These  Directors,  appointed  by  the  City  Councils,  are  eighteen  in 


*ND  HIS   COLLEGE.  253 

Dumber,  of  whom  3^  go  out  of  office  every  year,  while  the  Coun- 
cils tLemselves  are  annuity  elected.  Hence  the  difficulty  of  set- 
tling upon  a  plan,  and  the  greater  difficulty  of  adhering  to  one. 
Sometimes  a  majority  has  favored  the  introduction  of  Latin  or 
Greek ;  again,  the  manual-Yaoor  system  has  had  advocates ;  some 
have  desired  a  liberal  scale  of  living  for  the  pupils ;  others  have 
thought  it  be<st  to  give  them  Spartan  fare.  Four  times  the  Pres- 
ident has  been  changed,  and  tnere  have  been  two  periods  of  con- 
siderable length  when  there  was  no  President.  There  have  been 
dissensions  without  and  trouWe  within.  As  many  as  forty-four 
boys  have  run  awaj  in  a  single  year.  Meanwhile,  the  Annual 
Reports  of  the  Dire<j»ors  have  usually  been  so  vague  and  so  ret- 
icent, that  the  public  was  left  titterly  in  the  dark  as  to  the  condi- 
tion of  the  institution.  Letters  from  masters  to  whom  pupils 
have  been  apprenticed  were  published  in  the  Reports,  but  only 
the  letters  which  had  nothing  but  good  to  say  of  the  apprentices. 
Large  numbers  of  the  boys,  it  is  true,  have  done  and  are  doing 
credit  to  the  College ;  but  the  pablic  have  no  means  of  judging 
whether,  upon  the  whole,  the  training  of  the  College  has  been 
successful. 

Nevertheless,  we  believe  we  may  say  with  truth  that  invalu- 
able experience  has  been  gained,  and  genuine  progress  has  been 
made.  To  maintain  and  educate  six  hundred  boys,  even  if  those 
boys  had  enlightened  parents  to  aid  in  the  work,  is  a  task  which 
would  exhaust  the  wisdom  and  the  tact  of  the  greatest  educator 
that  ever  lived.  But  these  boys  are  all  fatherless,  and  many  of 
them  motherless  ;  the  mothers  of  many  are  ignorant  and  unwise, 
of  some  are  even  vicious  and  dissolute.  A  large  number  of  the 
boys  are  of  very  inferior  endowments,  have  acquired  bad  habits, 
have  inherited  evil  tendencies.  It  would  be  hard  to  overstate 
the  difficulty  of  the  work  which  the  will  of  Girard  has  devolved 
upon  the  Directors  and  teachers  of  Girard  College.  Mistakes 
have  been  made,  but  perhaps  they  have  not  been  more  serious  or 
more  numerous  than  we  ought  to  expect  in  the  forming  of  an  in- 
stitution absolutely  unique,  and  composed  of  material  the  most 
unmanageable. 

There  are  indications,  too,  that  the  period  of  experiment  draws 


254  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

to  an  end,  and  that  the  final  plan  of  the  College,  on  the  basis  of 
common-sense,  is  about  to  be  settled.  Mr.  Richard  Vaux,  the 
present  head  of  the  Board  of  Directors,  writes  Reports  in  a  style 
most  eccentric,  and  not  always  intelligible  to  remote  readers  ;  but 
it  is  evident  that  his  heart  is  in  the  work,  and  that  he  belongs  to 
the  party  who  desire  the  College  to  be  the  useful,  unambitious 
institution  that  Girard  wished  it  to  be.  His  Reports  are  not 
written  with  rose-water.  They  say  something.  They  confess 
some  failures,  as  well  as  vaunt  some  successes.  We  would  ear- 
nestly advise  the  Directors  never  to  shrink  from  taking  the  public 
into  their  confidence.  The  public  is  wiser  and  better  than  any 
man  or  any  board.  A  plain  statement  every  year  of  the  real 
condition  of  the  College,  the  real  difficulties  in  the  way  of  its 
organization,  would  have  been  far  better  than  the  carefully 
uttered  nothings  of  which  the  Annual  Reports  have  generally 
consisted.  It  was  to  Philadelphia  that  Girard  left  his  estate. 
The  honor  of  Philadelphia  is  involved  in  its  faithful  adrninis 
tration.  Philadelphia  has  a  right  to  know  how  it  is  ndminis 
tered. 

The  President  of  the  College  is  Major  Richard  Somers  Smith, 
a  graduate  of  West  Point,  where  he  was  afterwards  a  Professor. 
He  has  served  with  distinction  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  in 
which  he  commanded  a  brigade.  To  learn  how  to  be  an  effi- 
cient President  of  Girard  College  is  itself  a  labor  of  years ; 
and  Major  Smith  is  only  in  the  second  year  of  his  incumbency. 
The  highest  hopes  are  indulged,  however,  that  under  his  energetic 
rule,  the  College  will  become  all  that  the  public  ought  to  expect. 
He  seems  to  have  perceived  at  once  the  weak  point  of  the  insti- 
tution. 

"  I  find  in  the  College,"  he  says  in  one  of  his  monthly  reports,  "  a 
certain  degree  of  impatience  of  study,  an  inertness,  a  dragging  along, 
an  infection  of  '  young- Americanism,'  a  disposition  to  flounder  along 
through  duties  half  done,  hurrying  to  reach  —  what  is  never  attained 
—  an  '  easy  success ' ;  and  I  observe  that  this  state  of  things  is  confined 
to  the  higher  departments  of  study.  In  the  elementary  department? 
there  is  life  ;  but  as  soon  as  the  boy  has  acquired  the  rudiments  of  hi< 
[English  or  common-school  education,  he  begins  to  chafe,  and  to  feel 


AND  HIS  COLLEGE.  256 

that  it  is  time  for  him  to  go  out,  and  to  make  haste  to  '  finish  (  ! )  hi* 
studies,'  —  which  of  course  he  does  without  much  heart." 

And  again :  — 

"  The  '  poor  white  male  orphan,'  dwelling  for  eight  or  ten  years  in 
comfort  almost  amounting  to  luxury,  waited  upon  by  servants  and  ma- 
chinery in  nearly  all  his  domestic  requirements,  unused  to  labor,  or  la- 
boring only  occasionally,  with  some  reward  in  view  in  the  form  of  ex- 
tra privileges,  finds  it  hard  to  descend  from  his  fancied  elevation  to  the 
lot  of  a  simple  apprentice  ;  and  his  disappointment  is  not  soothed  by 
the  discovery  that  with  all  his  learning  he  has  not  learned  wherewithal 
to  give  ready  satisfaction  to  his  master." 

It  has  been  difficult,  also,  to  induce  the  large  manufacturers  to 
take  apprentices  ;  they  are  now  accustomed  to  place  boys  at  once- 
upon  the  footing  of  men,  paying  them  such  wages  as  they  are 
worth.  Men  who  employ  forty  boys  will  not  generally  undertake 
the  responsibilities  involved  in  receiving  them  as  bound  appren- 
tices for  a  term  of  years. 

To  remedy  all  these  evils,  Major  Smith  proposes  to  add  to  the 
College  a  Manual  Labor  Department,  in  which  the  elder  boys 
shall  acquire  the  rudiments  of  the  arts  and  trades  to  which  they 
are  destined.  This  will  alleviate  the  tedium  of  the  College  rou- 
tine, assist  the  physical  development  of  the  boys,  and  send  them 
forth  prepared  to  render  more  desirable  help  to  their  employers. 
The  present  Board  of  Directors  favor  the  scheme. 

In  one  particular  the  College  has  fulfilled  the  wishes  of  its 
founder.  He  said  in  his  will,  "  I  desire  that  by  every  proper 
means,  a  pure  attachment  to  our  republican  institutions,  and  to 
the  sacred  rights  of  conscience,  as  guaranteed  by  our  happy  Con- 
stitution, shall  be  formed  and  fostered  in  the  minds  of  the  schol- 
ars." Three  fourths  of  the  whole  number  of  young  men,  out  of 
their  time,  who  were  apprenticed  from  Girard  College,  have 
joined  the  Union  army.  We  must  confess,  also,  that  a  consid- 
erable number  of  its  apprentices,  not  out  of  their  time,  have  run 
away  for  the  same  purpose.  With  regard  to  the  exclusion  of 
ecclesiastics,  it  is  agreed  on  all  hands  that  no  evil  has  resulted 
from  that  singular  injunction  of  the  will.  On  the  contrary,  it  has 
served  to  call  particular  attention  to  the  religious  instruction  of 


256  STEPHEN   GIRARD 

the  pupils.  The  only  effect  of  the  clause  is,  that  the  morning 
prayers  and  the  Sunday  services  are  conducted  by  gentlemen 
who  have  not  undergone  the  ceremony  of  ordination. 

The  income  of  the  Girard  estate  is  now  about  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  it  is  increasing.  Supposing  that 
only  one  half  of  this  revenue  is  appropriated  to  the  College,  it  is 
still,  we  believe,  the  largest  endowment  in  the  country  for  an 
educational  purpose.  The  means  of  the  College  are  therefore 
ample.  To  make  those  means  effective  in  the  highest  degree, 
some  mode  must  be  devised  by  which  the  politics  of  the  city  shall 
cease  to  influence  the  choice  of  Directors.  In  other  words, 
"  Girard  College  must  be  taken  out  of  politics."  The  Board  of 
Directors  should,  perhaps,  be  a  more  permanent  body  than  it 
now  is.  At  the  earliest  possible  moment  a  scheme  of  instruction 
should  be  agreed  upon,  which  should  remain  unchanged,  in  its 
leading  features,  long  enough  for  it  to  be  judged  by  its  results. 
The  President  must  be  clothed  with  ample  powers,  and  held  re- 
sponsible, not  for  methods,  but  results.  He  must  be  allowed,  at 
least,  to  nominate  all  his  assistants,  and  to  recommend  the  re- 
moval of  any  for  reasons  given ;  and  both  his  nominations  and 
his  recommendations  of  removal,  so  long  as  the  Directors  desire 
to  retain  his  services,  should  be  ratified  by  them.  He  must  be 
made  to  feel  strong  in  his  place ;  otherwise,  he  will  be  tempted 
to  waste  his  strength  upon  the  management  of  committees,  and 
general  whitewashing.  Human  nature  is  so  constituted,  that  a 
gentleman  with  a  large  family  will  not  willingly  give  up  an  in- 
come of  three  thousand  dollars  a  year,  with  lodging  in  a  marble 
palace.  If  he  is  a  strong  man  and  an  honorable,  he  will  do  it, 
rather  than  fill  a  post  the  duties  of  which  an  ignorant  or  officious 
committee  prevent  his  discharging.  If  he  is  a  weak  or  dishonest 
man,  he  will  cringe  to  that  committee,  and  expend  all  his  inge- 
nuity in  making  the  College  show  well  on  public  days.  It  might 
even  be  well,  in  order  to  strengthen  the  President,  to  give  him 
the  right  of  appeal  to  the  Mayor  and  Councils,  in  case  of  an 
irreconcilable  difference  of  opinion  between  him  and  the  Directors. 
Everything  depends  upon  the  President.  Given  the  right  Pres 
ident,  with  power  enough  and  time  enough,  and  the  success  of 


AND  HIS  COLLEGE.  257 

the  College  is  assured.  Given  a  bad  President,  or  a  good  one 
hampered  by  committees,  or  too  dependent  upon  a  board,  and 
the  College  will  be  the  reproach  of  Philadelphia. 

It  is  a  question  with  political  economists,  whether,  upon  the 
whole,  such  endowments  as  this  are  a  good  or  an  evil  to  a  com- 
munity. There  is  now  a  considerable  party  in  England,  among 
whom  are  several  clergymen  of  the  Established  Church,  who 
think  it  would  be  bettor  for  England  if  every  endowment  were 
swept  away,  and  thus  to  each  succeeding  generation  were  re- 
stored the  privilege  of  supporting  all  its  poor,  caring  for  all  its 
sick,  and  educating  all  its  young.  Dr.  Chalmers  appears  to  have 
been  inclined  to  an  opinion  like  this  It  will  be  long,  however, 
before  this  question  becomes  vital  in  America.  Girard  College 
must  continue  for  generations  to  weigh  heavily  on  Philadelphia, 
or  to  lighten  its  burdens.  The  conduct  of  those  who  have  charge 
of  it  in  its  infancy  will  go  far  to  determine  whether  it  shall  be  an 
argument  for  or  against  the  utility  of  endowments.  Meanwhile, 
we  advise  gentlemen  who  have  millions  to  leave  behind  them  not 
to  impose  difficult  conditions  upon  the  future,  which  the  future 
may  be  unable  or  unwilling  to  fulfil ;  but  either  to  bestow  their 
wealth  for  some  object  that  can  be  immediately  and  easily  accom- 
plished, or  else  imitate  the  conduct  of  that  respectable  and  public- 
spirited  man  who  left  five  pounds  towards  the  discharge  of  his 
country's  debt. 


JAMES    GORDON   BENNETT 


AND 


THE    NEW  YORK    HERALD 


JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT  AND  THE 
NEW  YORK  HERALD. 


A  FEW  years  ago  it  seemed  probable  that  the  people  of  the 
United  States  would  be  supplied  with  news  chiefly  through 
the  agency  of  newspapers  published  in  the  city  of  New  York. 
We  were  threatened  with  a  paper  despotism  similar  to  that  former- 
ly exercised  in  Great  Britain  by  the  London  Times ;  since,  when 
one  city  furnishes  a  country  with  newspapers,  one  newspaper  is 
sure,  at  length,  to  gain  such  a  predominance  over  others  that  its  pro- 
prietor, if  he  is  equal  to  his  position,  wields  a  power  greater  than 
ought  to  be  intrusted  to  an  individual.  There  have  been  periods 
when  the  director  of  the  London  Times  appeared  to  be  as  truly 
the  monarch  of  Great  Britain  as  Henry  VIII.  once  was,  or  as 
William  Pitt  during  the  Seven  Years'  War.  It  was,  we  believe, 
the  opinion  of  the  late  Mr.  Cobden,  which  Mr.  Kinglake  con- 
firms, that  the  editor  of  the  London  Times  could  have  prevented 
the  Crimean  War.  Certainly  he  conducted  it.  Demosthenes 
did  not  more  truly  direct  the  resources  of  Athens  against  Philip, 
than  did  this  invisible  and  anonymous  being  those  of  the  British 
Empire  against  Russia.  The  first  John  Walter,  who  was  to  jour- 
nalism what  James  Watt  was  to  the  steam-engine,  had  given  this 
man  daily  access  to  the  ear  of  England ;  and  to  that  ear  he  ad- 
dressed, not  the  effusions  of  his  own  mind,  but  the  whole  purchas- 
able eloquence  of  his  country.  He  had  relays  of  Demosthenes. 
The  man  controlling  such  a  press,  and  fit  to  control  it,  can  bring 
the  available  and  practised  intellect  of  his  country  to  bear  upon 
the  passions  of  his  countrymen ;  for  it  is  a  fact,  that  nearly  the 
whole  literary  talent  of  a  nation  is  at  the  command  of  any  honor- 
able man  who  has  money  enough,  with  tact  enough  The  editor 


262  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

who  expends  fifty  guineas  a  day  in  the  purchase  of  three  short 
essays  can  have  them  written  by  the  men  who  can  do  them  best. 
What  a  power  is  this,  to  say  three  things  every  morning  to  a 
whole  nation,  —  to  say  them  with  all  the  force  which  genius, 
knowledge,  and  practice  united  can  give,  —  and  to  say  them  with- 
out audible  contradiction !  Fortunate  for  England  is  it  that  this 
power  is  no  longer  concentrated  in  a  single  man,  and  that  the 
mighty  influence  once  wielded  by  an  individual  will  henceforth  be 
exerted  by  a  profession. 

We  in  America  have  escaped  all  danger  of  ever  falling  under 
the  dominion  of  a  paper  despot.  There  will  never  be  a  Times  in 
America.  Twenty  years  ago  the  New  York  news  and  the  New 
York  newspaper  reached  distant  cities  at  the  same  moment ;  but 
since  the  introduction  of  the  telegraph,  the  news  outstrips  the 
newspaper,  and  is  given  to  the  public  by  the  local  press.  It  is 
this  fact  which  forever  limits  the  circulation  and  national  impor- 
tance of  the  New  York  press.  The  New  York  papers  reach  a 
village  in  Vermont  late  in  the  afternoon,  —  six,  eight,  ten  hours 
after  a  carrier  has  distributed  the  Springfield  Republican;  and 
nine  people  in  ten  will  be  content  with  the  brief  telegrams  of  the 
local  centre.  At  Chicago,  the  New  York  paper  is  forty  hours 
behind  the  news ;  at  San  Francisco,  thirty  days  ;  in  Oregon,  forty. 
Before  California  had  been  reached  by  the  telegraph,  the  New 
York  newspapers,  on  the  arrival  of  a  steamer,  were  sought  with 
an  avidity  of  which  the  most  ludicrous  accounts  have  been  given. 
If  the  news  was  important  and  the  supply  of  papers  inadequate, 
nothing  was  more  common  than  for  a  lucky  newsboy  to  dispose 
of  his  last  sheets  at  five  times  their  usual  price.  All  this  has 
changed.  A  spirited  local  press  has  anticipated  the  substance  of 
the  news,  and  most  people  wait  tranquilly  for  the  same  local  press 
to  spread  before  them  the  particulars  when  the  tardy  mail 
arrives.  Even  the  weekly  and  semi-weekly  editions  issued  by 
the  New  York  daily  press  have  probably  reached  their  maximum 
of  importance ;  since  the  local  daily  press  also  publishes  weekly 
and  semi-weekly  papers,  many  of  which  are  of  high  excellence 
and  are  always  improving,  and  have  the  additional  attraction  of 
full  local  intelligence.  If  some  bold  Yankee  should  invent  a 


AND  -THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.  2(53 

method  by  which  a  bundle  of  newspapers  could  bu  shot  from 
New  York  to  Chicago  in  half  an  hour,  it  would  certainly  enhance 
the  importance  of  the  New  York  papers,  and  diminish  that  of  the 
rapidly  expanding  and  able  press  of  Chicago.  Such  an  inven- 
tion is  possible ;  nay,  we  think  it  a  probability.  But  even  in  that 
case,  the  local  news,  and,  above  all,  the  local  advertising,  would 
still  remain  as  the  basis  of  a  great,  lucrative,  honorable,,  and  very 
attractive  business. 

We  believe,  however,  that  if  the  local  press  were  annihilated, 
and  this  whole  nation  lived  dependent  upon  the  press  of  a  single 
city,  still  we  should  be  safe  from  a  paper  despotism  ;  because  the 
power  of  the  editorial  lessens  as  the  intelligence  of  the  people  in- 
creases. The  prestige  of  the  editorial  is  gone.  Just  as  there  is 
a  party  in  England  who  propose  the  omission  of  the  sermon  from 
the  church  service  as  something  no  longer  needed  by  the  people, 
so  there  are  journalists  who  think  the  time  is  at  hand  for  the  aboli- 
tion of  editorials,  and  the  concentration  of  the  whole  force  of 
journalism  upon  presenting  to  the  public  the  history  and  picture 
of  the  day.  The  time  for  this  has  not  come,  and  may  never 
come ;  but  our  journalists  already  know  that  editorials  neither 
make  nor  mar  a  daily  paper,  that  they  do  not  much  influence  the 
public  mind,  nor  change  many  votes,  and  that  the  power  and  suc- 
cess of  a  newspaper  depend  finally  upon  its  success  in  getting  and 
its  skill  in  exhibiting  the  news.  The  word  newspaper  is  the 
exact  and  complete  description  of  the  thing  which  the  true  jour- 
nalist aims  to  produce.  The  news  is  his  work  ;  editorials  are  hif. 
play.  The  news  is  the  point  of  rivalry  ;  it  is  that  for  which 
nineteen  twentieths  of  the  people  buy  newspapers  ;  it  is  that 
which  constitutes  the  power  and  value  of  the  daily  press ;  it  is 
that  which  determines  the  rank  of  every  newspaper  in  every  free 
country. 

No  editor,  therefore,  will  ever  reign  over  the  United  States, 
and  the  newspapers  of  no  one  city  will  attain  universal  currency. 
Hence  the  importance  of  journalism  in  the  United  States.  By 
the  time  a  town  has  ten  thousand  inhabitants,  it  usually  has  a 
Jaily  paper,  and  in  most  large  cities  there  is  a  daily  paper  for 
every  twenty  thousand  people.  In  many  of  the  Western  cities 


264  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

there  are  daily  newspapers  conducted  with  great  energy,  and  on 
a  scale  of  expenditure  which  enables  them  to  approximate  real 
excellence.  Many  of  our  readers  will  live  to  see  the  day  when 
there  will  be  in  Chicago,  St.  Louis,  New  Orleans,  Cincinnati,  and 
San  Francisco  daily  newspapers  more  complete,  better  executed, 
and  produced  at  greater  expense  than  any  newspaper  now  existing 
in  the  United  States.  This  is  a  great  deal  to  say,  in  view  of  the 
fact,  that,  during  the  late  war,  one  of  the  New  York  papers  ex 
pended  in  war  correspondence  alone  two  thousand  dollars  a  week 
Nevertheless,  we  believe  it.  There  will  never  be  two  newspapers 
in  any  one  city  that  can  sustain  such  an  expenditure ;  but  in  fif- 
teen years  from  to-day  there  will  be  one,  we  think,  in  each  of  our 
great  cities,  and  besides  that  one  there  will  be  four  or  five  strug- 
gling to  supplant  it,  as  well  as  one  or  two  having  humbler  aims 
and  content  with  a  lowlier  position. 

It  is  plain  that  journalism  will  henceforth  and  forever  be  an 
important  and  crowded  profession  in  the  United  States.  The 
daily  newspaper  is  one  of  those  things  which  are  rooted  in  the  ne- 
cessities of  modern  civilization.  The  steam-engine  is  not  more 
essential  to  us.  The  newspaper  is  that  which  connects  each  in- 
dividual with  the  general  life  of  mankind,  and  makes  him  part  and 
parcel  of  the  whole ;  so  that  we  can  almost  say,  that  those  who 
neither  read  newspapers  nor  converse  with  people  who  do  read 
them  are  not  members  of  the  human  family;  —  though,  like  the 
negroes  of  Guinea,  they  may  become  such  in  time.  They  are 
beyond  the  pale  ;  they  have  no  hold  of  the  electric  chain,  and 
therefore  do  not  receive  the  shock. 

There  are  two  mornings  of  the  year  on  which  newspapers  have 
not  hitherto  been  published  in  the  city  of  New  York,  —  the  5th 
of  July,  and  the  2d  of  January.  A  shadow  appears  to  rest  on 
the  world  during  those  days,  as  when  there  is  an  eclipse  of  the 
sun.  We  are  separated  from  our  brethren,  cut  off",  lost,  alone  ; 
vague  apprehensions  of  evil  creep  over  the  mind.  We  feel,  in 
some  degree,  as  husbands  feel  who,  far  from  wife  and  childien, 
say  to  themselves,  shuddering,  "  What  things  may  have  happened, 
and  I  not  know  it ! "  Nothing  quite  dispels  the  gleom  until  the 
Evening  Post  —  how  eagerly  seized  —  assures  us  hat  n<  thing 


AND  THE  NEW  YOBK  HEBALD.          265 

very  particular  has  happened  since  our  last.  It  is  amusing  to 
notice  how  universal  is  the  habit  of  reading  a  morning  paper. 
Hundreds  of  vehicles  and  vessels  convey  the  business  men  of  New 
York  to  that  extremity  of  Manhattan  Island  which  may  be  re- 
garded as  the  counting-house  of  the  Western  Continent.  It  is 
not  uncommon  for  every  individual  in  a  cabin  two  hundred  feet 
long  to  be  sitting  absorbed  in  his  paper,  like  boys  conning  their 
lessons  on  their  way  to  school.  Still  more  striking  is  it  to  ob- 
serve the  torrent  of  workingmen  pouring  down  town,  many  of 
them  reading  as  they  go,  and  most  of  them  provided  with  a  news- 
paper for  dinner-time,  not  lea  3  as  a  matter  of  course  than  the  tin 
kettle  which  contains  the  material  portion  of  the  repast.  Notice, 
too,  the  long  line  of  hackney-coaches  on  a  stand,  nearly  every 
driver  sitting  on  his  box  reading  his  paper.  Many  of  our  Boston 
friends  have  landed  in  New  York  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  ridden  up  town  in  the  street  cars,  filled,  at  that  hour,  with 
women  and  boys,  folding  newspapers  and  throwing  off  bundles 
of  them  from  time  to  time,  which  are  caught  by  other  boys  and 
women  in  waiting.  Carriers  are  flitting  in  every  direction,  and 
the  town  is  alive  with  the  great  business  of  getting  two  hundred 
thousand  papers  distributed  before  breakfast. 

All  this  is  new,  but  it  is  also  permanent.  Having  once  had 
daily  papers,  we  can  never  again  do  without  them ;  so  perfectly 
does  this  great  invention  accord  with  the  genius  of  modern  life. 
The  art  of  journalism  is  doubtless  destined  to  continuous  improve- 
ment for  a  long  time  to  come  ;  the  newspapers  of  the  future  will 
be  more  convenient,  and  better  in  every  way,  than  those  of  the 
present  day ;  but  the  art  remains  forever  an  indispensable  auxili- 
ary to  civilization.  And  this  is  so,  not  by  virtue  of  editorial 
essays,  but  because  journalism  brings  the  events  of  the  time  to 
bear  upon  the  instruction  of  the  time.  An  editorial  essayist  is  a 
man  addressing  men :  but  the  skilled  and  faithful  journalist,  re- 
cording with  exactness  and  power  the  thing  that  has  come  to 
pass,  is  Providence  addressing  men.  The  thing  that  has  actually 
happened,  —  to  know  that  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  All  else 
B  theory  and  conjecture,  which  may  be  right  and  may  be  wrong. 

"While  it  is  true  that  the  daily  press  of  the  city  of  New  York 
12 


266  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

is  limited  by  the  telegraph,  it  has  nevertheless  a  very  great,  an 
unapproached,  national  importance.  We  do  not  consider  it  cer- 
tain that  New  York  is  always  to  remain  the  chief  city  of  the 
United  States ;  but  it  holds  that  rank  now,  and  must  for  many 
years.  Besides  being  the  source  of  a  great  part  of  our  news,  it 
was  the  first  city  that  afforded  scope  for  papers  conducted  at  the 
incredible  expense  which  modern  appliances  necessitate.  Conse- 
quently its  daily  papers  reach  the  controlling  minds  of  the  coun- 
try. They  are  found  in  all  reading-rooms,  exchanges,  bank  par- 
lors, insurance-offices,  counting-rooms,  hotels,  and  wherever  else 
the  ruling  men  of  the  country  congregate.  But,  above  all,  they 
are,  and  must  be,  in  all  newspaper  offices,  subject  to  the  scissors. 
This  is  the  chief  source  of  their  importance.  Not  merely  that  in 
this  way  their  contents  are  communicated  to  the  whole  people. 
The  grand  reason  why  the  New  York  papers  have  national  im- 
portance is,  that  it  is  chiefly  through  them  that  the  art  of  journal- 
ism in  the  United  States  is  to  be  perfected.  They  set  daily  copies 
for  all  editors  to  follow.  The  expenditure  necessary  for  the  car- 
rying on  of  a  complete  daily  newspaper  is  so  immense,  that  the 
art  can  only  be  improved  in  the  largest  cities.  New  York  is  first 
in  the  field ;  it  has  the  start  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  or  more ; 
and  it  therefore  devolves  upon  the  journalists  of  that  city  to  teach 
the  journalists  of  the  United  States  their  vocation.  It  is  this  fact 
which  invests  the  press  of  New  York  with  such  importance,  and 
makes  it  so  well  worth  considering. 

It  is  impossible  any  longer  to  deny  that  the  chief  newspaper 
of  that  busy  city  is  the  New  York  Herald.  No  matter  how  much 
we  may  regret  this  fact,  or  be  ashamed  of  it,  no  journalist  can 
deny  it.  We  do  not  attach  much  importance  to  the  fact  that 
Abraham  Lincoln,  the  late  lamented  President  of  the  United 
States,  thought  it  worth  while,  during  the  dark  days  of  the  sum- 
mer of  1864,  to  buy  its  support  at  the  price  of  the  offer  of  the 
French  mission.  He  was  mistaken  in  supposing  that  this  paper 
had  any  considerable  power  to  change  votes ;  which  was  shown 
by  the  result  of  the  Presidential  election  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
where  General  McClellan  had  the  great  majority  of  thirty-seven 
thousand.  Influence  over  opinion  no  paper  can  have  which  has. 


AlfD  THE   NEW  ^ORK  HERALD.  207 

itself  no  opinion,  and  »res  for  none.  It  is  not  as  a  vehicle  of  opin- 
ion  that  the  Herald  has  importance,  but  solely  as  a  vehicle  of 
news.  It  is  for  its  ea  cellence,  real  or  supposed,  in  this  particular, 
that  eighty  thousand  people  buy  it  every  morning.  Mr.  Lincoln 
committed,  as  we  cannot  help  thinking,  a  most  egregious  error 
and  fault  in  his  purchase  of  the  editor  of  this  paper,  though  he  is 
in  some  degree  excused  by  the  fact  that  several  leading  Repub- 
licans, who  were  in  a  position  to  know  better,  advised  or  sanc- 
tioned the  bargain,  and  leading  journalists  agreed  not  to  censure 
it.  Mr.  Lincoln  could  not  be  expected  to  draw  the  distinction 
between  the  journalist  and  the  writer  cf  editorials.  He  perceived 
the  strength  of  this  carrier-pigeon's  pinions,  but  did  not  note  the 
trivial  character  of  the  message  tied  to  its  leg.  Thirty  or  forty 
war  correspondents  in  the  field,  a  circulation  larger  than  any  of 
its  rivals,  an  advertising  patronage  equalled  cnly  by  that  of  the 
London  Times,  the  popularity  of  the  paper  in  the  army,  the  fre- 
quent utility  of  its  maps  and  other  elucidations,  —  these  things 
imposed  upon  his  mind ;  and  his  wife  could  tell  him  from  personal 
observation,  that  the  proprietor  of  this  paper  lived  in  a  style  of 
the  most  profuse  magnificence,  —  maintaining  costly  establish- 
ments in  town  and  country,  horses,  and  yachts,  to  say  nothing 
of  that  most  expensive  appendage  to  a  reigning  house,  an  heir 
apparent. 

Our  friends  in  the  English  press  tell  us,  that  the  Herald  was 
one  of  the  principal  obstacles  in  their  attempts  to  guide  English 
opinions  aright  during  the  late  struggle.  Young  men  in  the  press 
would  point  to  its  editorials  and  say :  "  This  is  the  principal 
newspaper  in  the  Northern  States ;  this  is  the  Times  of  America ; 
can  a  people  be  other  than  contemptible  who  prefer  such  a  news- 
paper as  this  to  journals  so  respectable  and  so  excellent  as  the 
Times  and  Tribune,  published  in  the  same  city?"  "As  to 
(American)  journalism,"  says  Professor  Goldwin  Smith,  "  the 
New  York  Herald  is  always  kept  before  our  eyes."  That  is  to 
say,  the  editorial  articles  in  tne  Herald;  not  that  variety  and  ful- 
ness of  intelligence  which  often  compelled  men  who  hated  it  most 
to  get  up  at  the  dawn  of  day  to  buy  it.  A  paper  which  can  de- 
tach two  or  three  men,  after  a  battle,  to  collect  the  names  of  the 


268  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

killed  and  wounded,  with  orders  to  do  only  that,  cannot  lack  pur- 
chasers in  war  time.  Napoleon  assures  us  that  the  whole  art  of 
war  consists  in  having  the  greatest  force  at  the  point  of  contact. 
This  rule  applies  to  the  art  of  journalism ;  the  editor  of  the 
Herald  knew  it,  and  had  the  means  to  put  it  in  practice. 

Even  here,  at  home,  we  find  two  opinions  as  to  the  cause  of 
the  Herald's  vast  success  as  a  business.  One  of  these  opinions  is 
this,  —  the  Herald  takes  the  lead  because  it  is  such  a  bad  paper. 
The  other  opinion  is,  —  the  Herald  takes  the  lead  because  it  is 
such  a  good  paper.  It  is  highly  important  to  know  which  of 
these  two  opinions  is  correct ;  or,  in  other  words,  whether  it  is 
the  Herald's  excellences  as  a  newspaper,  or  its  crimes  as  a  public 
teacher,  which  give  it  such  general  currency.  Such  success  as 
this  paper  has  obtained  is  a  most  influential  fact  upon  the  journal- 
ism of  the  whole  country,  as  any  one  can  see  who  looks  over  a  file 
of  our  most  flourishing  daily  papers.  It  is  evident  that  our  daily 
press  is  rapidly  becoming  Heraldized ;  and  it  .is  well  known  that 
the  tendency  of  imitation  is  to  reproduce  all  of  the  copy  except- 
ing alone  that  which  made  it  worth  copying.  It  is  honorable  to 
the  American  press  that  this  rule  has  been  reversed  in  the  pres- 
ent instance.  Some  of  the  more  obvious  good  points  of  the 
Herald  have  become  universal,  while  as  yet  no  creature  has  been 
found  capable  of  copying  the  worst  of  its  errors. 

If  there  are  ten  bakers  in  a  town,  the  one  that  gives  the  best 
loaf  for  sixpence  is  sure,  at  last,  to  sell  most  bread.  A  man 
may  puff  up  his  loaves  to  a  great  size,  by  chemical  agents,  and 
so  deceive  the  public  for  a  time ;  another  may  catch  the  crowd 
for  a  time  by  the  splendor  of  his  gilt  sheaf,  the  magnitude  of  his 
signs,  and  the  bluster  of  his  advertising;  and  the  intrinsically 
best  baker  may  be  kept  down,  for  a  time,  by  want  of  tact,  or 
capital,  or  some  personal  defect.  But  let  the  competition  last 
thirty  years !  The  gilt  sheaf  fades,  the  cavities  in  the  big  loaf 
are  observed ;  but  the  ugly  little  man  round  the  corner  comes 
steadily  into  favor,  and  all  the  town,  at  length,  is  noisy  in  the 
morning  with  the  rattle  of  his  carts.  The  particular  caterer  for 
our  morning  repast,  now  under  consideration,  has  achieved  a 
success  of  this  kind,  against  every  possible  obstacle,  ani  under 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HEBALD.          269 

every  possible  disadvantage.  He  had  no  friends  at  the  start,  he 
has  made  none  since,  and  he  has  none  now.  He  has  had.  the 
support  of  no  party  or  sect.  On  the  contrary,  he  has  won  his 
object  in  spite  of  the  active  opposition  of  almost  every  organized 
body  in  the  country,  and  the  fixed  disapproval  of  every  public- 
spirited  human  being  who  has  lived  in  the  United  States  since 
he  began  his  career.  What  are  we  to  say  of  this  ?  Are  we  to 
eay  that  the  people  of  the  United  States  are  competent  to  judge 
of  bread,  but  not  of  newspapers  ?  Are  we  to  say  that  the  people 
of  the  United  States  prefer  evil  to  good  ?  We  cannot  assent  to 
such  propositions. 

Let  us  go  back  to  the  beginning,  and  see  how  this  man  made 
his  way  to  his  present  unique  position.  We  owe  his  presence 
in  this  country,  it  seems,  to  Benjamin  Franklin ;  and  he  first 
smelt  printer's  ink  in  Boston,  near  the  spot  where  young  Ben 
Franklin  blackened  his  fingers  with  it  a  hundred  years  before. 
Born  and  reared  on  the  northeastern  coast  of  Scotland,  in  a 
Roman  Catholic  family  of  French  origin,  he  has  a  French  intel- 
lect and  Scotch  habits.  Frenchmen  residing  among  us  can 
seldom  understand  why  this  man  should  be  odious,  so  French  is 
he.  A  French  naval  officer  was  once  remonstrated  with  for 
having  invited  him  to  a  ball  given  on  board  a  ship  of  war  in 
New  York  harbor.  "  Why,  what  has  he  done  ? "  inquired  the 
officer.  "  Has  he  committed  murder  ?  Has  he  robbed,  forged, 
or  run  away  with  somebody's  wife  ? "  "  No."  "  Why  then 
should  we  not  invite  him  ?  "  "  He  is  the  editor  of  the  New  York 
Herald."  "  Ah  ! "  exclaimed  the  Frenchman,  —  "  the  Herald  ! 
it  is  a  delightful  paper,  —  it  reminds  me  of  my  gay  Paris."  This, 
however,  was  thirty  years  ago,  when  Bennett  was  almost  as 
French  as  Voltaire.  He  was  a  Frenchman  also  in  this :  though 
discarding,  in  his  youth,  the  doctrines  of  his  Church,  and  laughing 
them  to  scorn  in  early  manhood,  he  still  maintained  a  kind  of 
connection  with  the  Catholic  religion.  The  whole  of  his  power 
as  a  writer  consists  in  his  detection  of  the  evil  in  things  that  are 
good,  and  of  the  falsehood  in  things  that  are  true,  and  of  the  ri- 
diculous in  things  that  are  important  He  began  with  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  — u  the  holy  Roman  Catholic  Church,"  as  he 


270  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

once  styled  it,  —  adding  in  a  parenthesis,  "  all  of  us  Catholics  are 
devilish  holy."  Another  French  indication  is,  that  his  early 
tastes  were  romantic  literature  and  political  economy,  —  a  con- 
junction very  common  in  France  from  the  days  of  the  "  philoso- 
phers "  to  the  present  time.  During  our  times  of  financial  col- 
lapse, we  have  noticed,  among  the  nonsense  which  he  daily 
poured  forth,  some  gleams  of  a  superior  understanding  of  the 
fundamental  laws  of  finance.  He  appears  to  have  understood 
1837  and  1857  better  than  most  of  his  contemporaries. 

In  a  Catholic  seminary  he  acquired  the  rudiments  of  knowl- 
edge, and  advanced  so  far  as  to  read  Virgil.  He  also  picked  up 
a  little  French  and  Spanish  in  early  life.  The  real  instructors 
of  his  mind  were  Napoleon,  Byron,  and  Scott.  It  was  their 
fame,  however,  as  much  as  their  works,  that  attracted  and  daz- 
zled him.  It  is  a  strange  thing,  but  true,  that  one  of  the  strong- 
est desires  of  one  of  the  least  reputable  of  living  men  was,  and 
is,  to  be  admired  and  held  in  lasting  honor  by  his  fellow-men. 
Nor  has  he  now  the  least  doubt  that  he  deserves  their  admiration, 
and  will  have  it.  In  1817,  an  edition  of  Franklin's  Autobiogra- 
phy was  issued  in  Scotland.  It  was  his  perusal  of  that  little 
book  that  first  directed  his  thoughts  toward  America,  and  which 
finally  decided  him  to  try  his  fortune  in  the  New  World.  In 
May,  1819,  being  then  about  twenty  years  of  age,  he  landed  at 
Halifax,  with  less  than  five  pounds  in  his  purse,  without  a  friend 
on  the  Western  Continent,  and  knowing  no  vocation  except  that 
of  book-keeper. 

Between  his  landing  at  Halifax  and  the  appearance  of  the  first 
number  of  the  Herald  sixteen  years  elapsed ;  during  most  of 
which  he  was  a  very  poor,  laborious,  under-valued,  roving  writer 
for  the  daily  press.  At  Halifax,  he  gave  lessons  in  book-keeping 
for  a  few  weeks,  with  little  profit,  then  made  his  way  along  the 
coast  to  Portland,  whence  a  schooner  conveyed  him  to  Boston. 
He  was  then,  it  appears,  a  soft,  romantic  youth,  alive  to  the  his- 
toric associations  of  the  place,  and  susceptible  to  the  varied,  en- 
chanting loveliness  of  the  scenes  adjacent,  on  land  and  sea.  He 
even  expressed  his  feelings  in  verse,  in  the  Childe  Harold  man- 
ner, —  verse  which  does  really  show  a  poetic,  habit  of  feeling 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          271 

with  an  occasional  happiness  of  expression.  At  Boston  he  ex- 
perienced the  last  extremity  of  want.  Friendless  and  alone  he 
wandered  about  the  streets,  seeking  work  and  finding  none ;  until, 
his  small  store  of  money  being  all  expended,  he  passed  two  whole 
days  without  food,  and  was  then  only  relieved  by  finding  a  shil- 
ling on  the  Common.  He  obtained  at  length  the  place  of  sales- 
man in  a  bookstore,  from  which  he  was  soon  transferred  to  the 
printing-house  connected  therewith,  where  he  performed  the 
duties  of  proof-reader.  And  here  it  was  that  he  received  his 
first  lesson  in  the  art  of  catering  for  the  public  mind.  The  firm 
in  whose  employment  he  was  were  more  ambitious  of  glory  than 
covetous  of  profit,  and  consequently  published  many  works  that 
were  in  advance  of  the  general  taste.  Bankruptcy  was  their  re- 
ward. The  youth  noted  another  circumstance  at  Boston.  The 
newspaper  most  decried  was  Buckingham's  Galaxy ;  but  it  was 
also  the  most  eagerly  sought  and  the  most  extensively  sold. 
Buckingham  habitually  violated  the  traditional  and  established 
decorums  of  the  press ;  he  was  familiar,  chatty,  saucy,  anecdoti- 
cal,  and  sadly  wanting  in  respect  for  the  respectabilities  of  the 
most  respectable  town  in  the  universe.  Every  one  said  that  ho 
was  a  very  bad  man,  but  every  one  was  exceedingly  curious  every 
Saturday  to  see  "  what  the  fellow  had  to  say  this  week."  If  the 
youth  could  have  obtained  a  sight  of  a  file  of  James  Franklin's 
Courant,  of  1722,  in  which  the  youthful  Benjamin  first  addressed 
the  public,  he  would  have  seen  a  still  more  striking  example  of  a 
journal  generally  denounced  and  universally  read. 

Two  years  in  Boston.  Then  he  went  to  New  York,  where  he 
soon  met  the  publisher  of  a  Charleston  paper,  who  engaged  him 
as  translator  from  the  Spanish,  and  general  assistant.  During 
the  year  spent  by  him  at  Charleston  he  increased  his  knowledge 
of  the  journalist's  art.  The  editor  of  the  paper  with  which  he 
was  connected  kept  a  sail-boat,  in  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
meet  arriving  vessels  many  miles  frcm  the  coast,  and  bring  in  his 
files  of  newspapers  a  day  in  advance  of  his  rivals.  The  young 
assistant  remember3d  this,  and  turned  it  to  account  in  after  years. 
At  Charleston  he  was  confronted,  too,  with  the  late  peculiar  insti- 
tution, and  saw  much  to  approve  in  it,  nothing  to  condemn.  From 


JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT. 

that  day  to  this  he  has  been  but  in  one  thing  consistent, —-con- 
tempt  for  the  negro  and  for  all  white  men  interested  in  his  wel- 
fare, approving  himself  in  this  a  thorough  Celt.  If,  for  one  brief 
period,  he  forced  himself,  for  personal  reasons,  to  veil  this  feeling, 
the  feeling  remained  rooted  within  him,  and  soon  resumed  its 
wonted  expression.  He  liked  the  South,  and  the  people  of  the 
South,  and  had  a  true  Celtic  sympathy  with  their  aristocratic  pre- 
tensions. The  salary  of  an  assistant  editor  at  that  time  was  some- 
thing between  the  wages  of  a  compositor  and  those  of  an  office- 
boy.  Seven  dollars  a  week  would  have  been  considered  rather 
liberal  pay ;  ten,  munificent ;  fifteen,  lavish. 

Eeturning  to  New  York,  he  endeavored  to  find  more  lucrative 
employment,  and  advertised  his  intention  to  open,  near  the  site 
of  the  present  Herald  office,  a  "  Permanent  Commercial  School," 
in  which  all  the  usual  branches  were  to  be  taught  "  in  the  induc- 
tive method."  His  list  of  subjects  was  extensive,  —  "  reading, 
elocution,  penmanship,  and  arithmetic ;  algebra,  astronomy,  his- 
tory, and  geography ;  moral  philosophy,  commercial  law,  and  po- 
litical economy ;  English  grammar,  and  composition ;  and  also, 
if  required,  the  French  and  Spanish  languages,  by  natives  of 
those  countries"  Application  was  to  be  made  to  " J.  G.  B., 
148  Fulton  Street."  Applications,  however,  were  not  made  in 
sufficient  number,  and  the  school,  we  believe,  never  came  into  ex- 
istence. Next,  he  tried  a  course  of  lectures  upon  Political  Econ- 
omy, at  the  old  Dutch  Church  in  Ann  Street,  then  not  far  from 
the  centre  of  population.  The  public  did  not  care  to  hear  the 
young  gentleman  upon  that  abstruse  subject,  and  the  pecuniary 
result  of  the  enterprise  was  not  encouraging.  He  had  no  re- 
source but  the  ill-paid,  unhonored  drudgery  of  the  press. 

For  the  next  few  years  he  was  a  paragraphist,  reporter,  scis- 
sorer,  and  man-of-all-work  for  the  New  York  papers,  daily  and 
weekly,  earning  but  the  merest  subsistence.  He  wrote  then  in 
very  much  the  same  style  as  when  he  afterwards  amused  and 
shocked  the  town  in  the  infant  Herald  ;  only  he  was  under  re- 
straint, being  a  subordinate,  and  was  seldom  allowed  to  violate 
Aecorum.  In  point  of  industry,  sustained  and  indefatigable  in- 
dustry, he  had  no  equal,  and  has  never  since  had  but  one.  One 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          273 

thing  is  to  be  specially  noted  as  one  of  the  chief  and  indispensable 
causes  of  his  success.  He  had  no  vices.  He  never  drank  to  ex- 
cess, nor  gormandized,  nor  gambled,  nor  even  smoked,  nor  in  any 
other  way  wasted  the  vitality  needed  for  a  long  and  tough  grap- 
ple with  adverse  fortune.  What  he  once  wrote  of  himself  in  the 
early  Herald  was  strictly  true :  "  I  eat  and  drink  to  live,  — 
not  live  to  eat  and  drink.  Social  glasses  of  wine  are  my  aversion ; 
public  dinners  are  my  abomination  ;  all  species  of  gormandizing, 
my  utter  scorn  and  contempt.  When  I  am  hungry,  I  eat ;  when 
thirsty,  drink.  Wine  or  viands  taken  for  society,  or  to  stimulate 
conversation,  tend  only  to  dissipation,  indolence,  poverty,  con- 
tempt, and  death."  This  was  an  immense  advantage,  which  he 
had  in  common  with  several  of  the  most  mischievous  men  of 
modern  times, — Calhoun,  Charles  XIL,  George  III.,  and  others. 
Correct  bodily  habits  are  of  themselves  such  a  source  of  power, 
that  the  man  who  has  them  will  be  extremely  likely  to  gain  the 
day  over  competitors  of  ten  times  his  general  worth  who  have 
them  not.  Dr.  Franklin  used  to  say,  that  if  Jack  Wilkes  had 
been  as  exemplary  in  this  particular  as  George  III.,  he  would 
have  turned  the  king  out  of  his  dominions.  In  several  of  the 
higher  kinds  of  labor,  such  as  law,  physic,  journalism,  authorship, 
art,  when  the  competition  is  close  and  keen,  and  many  able  men 
are  near  the  summit,  the  question,  who  shall  finally  stand  upon 
it,  often  resolves  itself  into  one  of  physical  endurance.  This  man 
Bennett  would  have  lived  and  died  a  hireling  scribe,  if  he  had 
had  even  one  of  the  common  vices.  Everything  was  against  his 
rising,  except  alone  an  enormous  capacity  for  labor,  sustained  by 
strictly  correct  habits. 

He  lived  much  with  politicians  during  these  years  of  laborious 
poverty.  Gravitating  always  towards  the  winning  side,  he  did 
much  to  bring  into  power  the  worst  set  of  politicians  we  ever 
had,  —  those  who  "  availed "  themselves  of  the  popularity  of 
Andrew  Jackson,  and  who  were  afterwards  used  by  him  for  the 
purpose  of  electing  Martin  Van  Buren.  He  became  perfectly 
familiar  with  all  that  was  petty  and  mean  in  the  political  strifes 
of  the  day,  but  without  ever  suspecting-  that  there  was  anything 
in  politics  not  petty  and  mean.  He  had  no  convictions  of  hi* 
12*  K 


274  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

own,  and  therefore  not  the  least  belief  that  any  politician  had 
If  the  people  were  in  earnest  about  the  affairs  of  their  country, 
(theii  country,  not  his,)  it  was  because  the  people  were  not  be- 
hind the  scenes,  were  dupes  of  their  party  leaders,  were  a  parcel 
of  fools.  In  short,  he  acquired  his  insight  into  political  craft  in 
the  school  of  Tammany  Hall  and  the  Kitchen  Cabinet.  His 
value  was  not  altogether  unappreciated  by  the  politicians.  He 
was  one  of  those  whom  they  use  and  flatter  during  the  heat  of 
the  contest,  and  forget  in  the  distribution  of  the  spoils  of  victory. 

He  made  his  first  considerable  hit  as  a  journalist  in  the  spring 
of  1828,  when  ho  filled  the  place  of  "Washington  correspondent 
to  the  New  York  Enquirer.  In  the  Congressional  Library,  one 
day,  he  found  an  edition  of  Horace  Walpole's  Letters,  which 
amused  him  very  much.  "  Why  not,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  try  a 
few  letters  on  a  similar  plan  from  this  city,  to  be  published  in 
New  York  ?  "  The  letters  appeared.  Written  in  a  lively  man- 
ner, full  of  personal  allusions,  and  describing  individuals  respect- 
ing whom  the  public  are  always  curious,  —  free  also  from  offen- 
sive personalities,  —  the  letters  attracted  much  notice  and  were 
generally  copied  in  the  press.  It  is  said  that  some  of  the  ladies) 
whose  charms  were  described  in  those  letters  were  indebted  to 
them  for  husbands.  Personalities  of  this  kind  were  a  novelty 
then,  and  mere  novelty  goes  a  great  way  in  journalism.  At  this 
period  he  produced  almost  every  kind  of  composition  known  to 
periodical  literature,  —  paragraphs  and  leading  articles,  poetry 
and  love-stories,  reports  of  trials,  debates,  balls,  and  police  cases  ; 
his  earnings  ranging  from  five  dollars  a  week  to  ten  or  twelve. 
If  there  had  been  then  in  New  York  one  newspaper  publisher 
who  understood  his  business,  the  immense  possible  value  of  this 
man  as  a  journalist  would  have  been  perceived,  and  he  would 
have  been  secured,  rewarded,  and  kept  under  some  restraint. 
But  there  was  no  such  man.  There  were  three  or  four  forcible 
writers  for  the  press,  but  not  one  journalist. 

During  the  great  days  of  "  The  Courier  and  Inquirer,"  from 
1829  to  1832,  when  it  was  incomparably  the  best  newspaper  011 
the  continent,  James  Gordon  Bennett  was  its  most  efficient  hand. 
It  lost  him  in  1832,  when  the  paper  abandoned  General  Jackson 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          270 

and  took  uj  Nicholas  Biddle  ;  and  in  losing  him  lost  its  chance 
of  retaining  the  supremacy  among  American  newspapers  to  this 
lay.  We  ;an  truly  say,  that  at  that  time  journalism,  as  a  thing 
by  itself  and  for  itself,  had  no  existence  in  the  United  States. 
Newspapers  were  mere  appendages  of  party  ;  and  the  darling  ob- 
ject of  each  journal  was  to  be  recognized  as  the  organ  of  the  party 
it  supported.  As  to  the  public,  the  great  public,  hungry  for  in- 
teresting news,  no  one  thought  of  it.  Forty  years  ago,  in  the 
city  of  New  York,  a  copy  of  a  newspaper  could  not  be  bought 
for  money.  If  any  one  wished  to  see  a  newspaper,  he  had  either 
to  go  to  the  office  and  subscribe,  or  repair  to  a  bar-room  and  buy 
a  glass  of  something  to  drink,  or  bribe  a  carrier  to  rob  one  of  his 
customers.  The  circulation  of  the  Courier  and  Inquirer  was  con- 
sidered something  marvellous  when  it  printed  thirty-five  hundred 
copies  a  day,  and  its  business  was  thought  immense  when  its  daily 
advertising  averaged  fifty-five  dollars.  It  is  not  very  unusual  for 
a  newspaper  now  to  receive  for  advertising,  in  one  day,  six  hun- 
dred times  that  sum.  Bennett,  in  the  course  of  time,  had  a 
chance  been  given  to  him,  would  have  made  the  Courier  and  In- 
quirer powerful  enough  to  cast  off  all  party  ties  ;  and  this  he 
would  have  done  merely  by  improving  it  as  a  vehicle  of  news. 
But  he  was  kept  down  upon  one  of  those  ridiculous,  tantalizing, 
corrupting  salaries,  which  are  a  little  more  than  a  single  man 
needs,  but  not  enough  for  him  to  marry  upon.  This  salary  was 
increased  by  the  proprietors  giving  him  a  small  share  in  the 
small  profits  of  the  printing-office ;  so  that,  after  fourteen  years 
of  hard  labor  and  Scotch  economy,  he  found  himself,  on  leaving 
the  great  paper,  a  capitalist  to  the  extent  of  a  few  hundred  dol- 
lars. The  chief  editor  of  the  paper  which  he  now  abandoned 
Gometimes  lost  as  much  in  a  single  evening  at  the  card-table.  It 
probably  never  occurred  to  him  that  this  poor,  ill-favored  Scotch- 
man was  destined  to  destroy  his  paper  and  all  the  class  of  papers 
to  which  it  belonged.  Any  one  who  now  examines  a  file  of  the 
Courier  and  Inquirer  of  that  time,  and  knows  its  interior  circum 
stances,  will  see  plainly  enough  that  the  possession  of  this  mail 
was  the  vital  element  in  its  prosperity.  He  alone  knew  the  rudi- 
ments of  liL3  trade.  He  alone  had  the  physical  stamina,  the  inde 


276  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

fatigable  industry,  the  sleepless  vigilance,  the  dexterity,  tact,  and 
audacity,  needful  for  keeping  up  a  daily  newspaper  in  the  face  of 
keen  competition. 

Unweaned  yet  from  the  politicians,  he  at  once  started  a  cheap 
party  paper,  "  The  Globe,"  devoted  to  Jackson  and  Van  Buren. 
The  party,  however,  did  not  rally  to  its  support,  and  it  had  to 
contend  with  the  opposition  of  party  papers  already  existing,  upon 
whose  manor  it  was  poaching.  The  Globe  expired  after  an  ex- 
istence of  thirty  days.  Its  proprietor,  still  untaught  by  such  long 
experience,  invested  the  wreck  of  his  capital  in  a  Philadelphia 
Jackson  paper,  and  struggled  desperately  to  gain  for  it  a  footing 
in  the  party.  He  said  to  Mr.  Van  Buren  and  to  other  leaders, 
Help  me  to  a  loan  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  for  two  years, 
and  I  can  establish  my  Pennsylvanian  on  a  self-supporting  basis. 
The  application  was  politely  refused,  and  he  was  compelled  to 
give  up  the  struggle.  The  truth  is,  he  was  not  implicitly  trusted 
by  the  Jackson  party.  They  admitted  the  services  he  had  ren- 
dered ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  they  were  a  little  afraid  of  the  vein 
of  mockery  that  broke  out  so  frequently  in  his  writings.  He 
was  restive  in  harness.  He  was  devoted  to  the  party,  but  he 
was  under  no  party  illusions.  He  was  fighting  in  the  ranks  as  an 
adventurer  or  soldier  of  fortune.  He  fought  well ;  but  would  it 
do  to  promote  a  man  to  high  rank  who  knew  the  game  so  well, 
and  upon  whom  no  man  could  get  any  hold  ?  To  him,  in  his 
secret  soul,  Martin  Van  Buren  was  nothing  (as  he  often  said)  but 
a  country  lawyer,  who,  by  a  dexterous  use  of  the  party  machinery, 
the  well-timed  death  of  De  Witt  Clinton,  and  General  Jackson's 
frenzy  in  behalf  of  Mrs.  Eaton,  had  come  to  be  the  chosen  suc- 
cessor of  the  fiery  chieftain.  The  canny  Scotchman  saw  this 
with  horrid  clearness,  and  saw  nothing  more.  Political  chiefs  do 
not  like  subalterns  of  this  temper.  Underneath  the  politician  in 
Martin  Van  Buren  there  was  the  citizen,  the  patriot,  the  gentle- 
man, and  the  man,  whose  fathers  were  buried  in  American  soil, 
whose  children  were  to  live  under  American  institutions,  who 
had,  necessarily,  an  interest  in  the  welfare  and  honor  of  the 
country,  and  whose  policy,  upon  the  whole,  was  controlled  by 
that  natural  interest  in  his  country's  welfare  and  honor.  To  our 
mocking  Celt  nothing  of  this  was  apparent,  nor  has  ever  been. 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          277 

His  education  as  a  journalist  was  completed  by  the  failure  of 
his  Philadelphia  scheme.  Returning  to  New  York,  he  resolved 
to  attempt  no  more  to  rise  by  party  aid,  but  henceforth  have 
no  master  but  the  public.  On  the  6th  of  May,  1835,  appeared 
the  first  number  of  the  Morning  Herald,  price  one  cent.  It  was 
born  in  a  cellar  in  Wall  Street,  —  not  a  basement,  but  a  verita- 
ble cellar.  Some  persons  are  still  doing  business  in  that  region 
who  remember  going  down  into  its  subterranean  office,  and  buy- 
ing copies  of  the  new  paper  from  its  editor,  who  used  to  sit  at  a 
desk  composed  of  two  flour-barrels  and  a  piece  of  board,  and  who 
occupied  the  only  chair  in  the  establishment.  For  a  considerable 
time  his  office  contained  absolutely  nothing  but  his  flour-barrel 
desk,  one  wooden  chair,  and  a  pile  of  Heralds.  "  I  remember," 
writes  Mr.  William  Gowans,  the  well-known  bookseller  of  Nassau 
Street,  "  to  have  entered  the  subterranean  office  of  its  editor  early 
in  its  career,  and  purchased  a  single  copy  of  the  paper,  for  which 
I  paid  the  sum  of  one  cent  United  States  currency.  On  this  occa- 
sion the  proprietor,  editor,  and  vendor  was  seated  at  his  desk, 
busily  engaged  writing,  and  appeared  to  pay  little  or  no  attentiot 
to  me  as  I  entered.  On  making  known  my  object  in  coming  in, 
he  requested  me'  to  put  my  money  down  on  the  counter,  and  help 
myself  to  a  paper ;  all  this  time  he  continuing  his  writing  opera- 
tions. The  office  was  a  single  oblong  underground  room ;  its 
furniture  consisted  of  a  counter,  which  also  served  as  a  desk,  con- 
structed from  two  flour-barrels,  perhaps  empty,  standing  apart 
from  each  other  about  four  feet,  with  a  single  plank  covering 
both  ;  a  chair,  placed  in  the  centre,  upon  which  sat  the  editor 
busy  at  his  vocation,  with  an  inkstand  by  his  right  hand  ;  on  the 
end  nearest  the  door  were  placed  the  papers  for  sale." 

Everything  appeared  to  be  against  his  success.  It  was  one 
poor  man  in  a  cellar  against  the  world.  Already  he  had  failed 
three  times  ;  first,  in  1825,  when  he  attempted  to  establish  a 
Sunday  paper ;  next,  in  1832,  when  he  tried  a  party  journal ; 
recently,  in  Philadelphia.  With  great  difficulty,  and  after  many 
rebuffs,  he  had  prevailed  upon  two  young  printers  to  print  his  pa- 
per and  share  its  profits  or  losses,  and  he  possessed  about  enough 
money  to  start  the  enterprise  and  sustain  it  ten  days.  The  cheap- 


278  JAMES  GOEDON  BENNETT 

ness  of  his  paper  was  no  longer  a  novelty,  for  there  was  already 
a  penny  paper  with  a  paying  circulation.  He  had  cut  loose  from 
all  party  ties,  and  he  had  no  influential  friends  except  those  who 
had  an  interest  in  his  failure.  The  great  public,  to  which  he 
made  this  last  desperate  appeal,  knew  him  not  even  by  name. 
The  newsboy  system  scarcely  existed ;  and  all  that  curious  ma- 
chinery by  which,  in  these  days,  a  "  new  candidate  for  public 
favor  "  is  placed,  at  no  expense,  on  a  thousand  news-stands,  had 
not  been  thought  of.  There  he  was  alone  in  his  cellar,  without 
clerk,  errand-boy,  or  assistant  of  any  kind.  For  many  weeks  he 
did  with  his  own  hands  everything,  —  editorials,  news,  reporting, 
receiving  advertisements,  and  even  writing  advertisements  for 
persons  "  unaccustomed  to  composition."  He  expressly  an- 
nounced that  advertisers  could  have  their  advertisements  written 
for  them  at  the  office,  and  this  at  a  time  when  there  was  no  one 
to  do  it  but  himself.  The  extreme  cheapness  of  the  paper  ren- 
dered him  absolutely  dependent  upon  his  advertisers,  and  yet 
he  dared  not  charge  more  than  fifty  cents  for  sixteen  lines,  and 
he  offered  to  insert  sixteen  lines  for  a  whole  year  for  thirty  dol- 
lars. 

He  at  once  produced  an  eminently  salable  article.  If  just 
such  a  paper  were  to  appear  to-day,  or  any  day,  in  any  large 
city  of  the  world,  it  would  instantly  find  a  multitude  of  readers. 
It  was  a  very  small  sheet,  —  four  little  pages  of  four  columns 
each,  —  much  better  printed  than  the  Herald  now  is,  and  not  a 
waste  line  in  it.  Everything  drew,  as  the  sailors  say.  There 
was  not  much  scissoring  in  it,  —  the  scissors  have  never  been 
much  esteemed  in  the  Herald  office,  —  but  the  little  that  there 
was  all  told  upon  the  general  effect  of  the  sheet.  There  is  a 
story  current  in  newspaper  offices  that  the  first  few  numbers  of 
the  Herald  were  strictly  decorous  and  "  respectable,"  but  that  the 
editor,  finding  the  public  indifferent  and  his  money  running  low, 
changed  his  tactics,  and  filled  his  paper  with  scurrility  and  inde- 
cency, which  immediately  made  it  a  paying  enterprise.  No  such 
thing.  1'he  first  numbers  were  essentially  of  the  same  character 
as  the  number  published  this  morning.  They  had  the  same  ex- 
cellences and  the  same  defects :  in  the  news  department,  immense 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          27  If 

industry,  vigilance,  and  tact ;  in  the  editorial  columns,  the  vein 
of  Mephistophelean  mockery  which  has  puzzled  and  shocked  so 
many  good  people  at  home  and  abroad.  A  leading  topic  then 
was  a  certain  Matthias,  one  of  those  long-bearded  religious  impos- 
tors who  used  to  appear  from  time  to  time.  The  first  article  in 
the  first  number  of  the  Herald  was  a  minute  account  of  the  origin 
and  earlier  life  of  the  fellow,  — just  the  thing  for  the  paper,  and 
the  sure  method  of  exploding  him.  The  first  editorial  article, 
too,  was  perfectly  in  character :  — 

"  In  debuts  of  this  kind,"  said  the  editor,  "  many  talk  of  principle  — 
political  principle,  party  principle  —  as  a  sort  of  steel-trap  to  catch  the 
public.  We  mean  to  be  perfectly  understood  on  this  point,  and  there- 
fore openly  disclaim  all  steel-traps,  —  all  principle,  as  it  is  called,  — 
all  party,  —  all  politics.  Our  only  guide  shall  be  good,  sound,  practi- 
cal common-sense,  applicable  to  the  business  and  bosoms  of  men  en- 
gaged in  every-day  life.  We  shall  support  no  party,  be  the  organ  of 
no  faction  or  coterie,  and  care  nothing  for  any  election  or  any  candi- 
date, from  President  down  to  constable.  We  shall  endeavor  to  record 
facts  on  every  public  and  proper  subject,  stripped  of  verbiage  and 
coloring,  with  comments,  when  suitable,  just,  independent,  fearless,  and 
good-tempered.  If  the  Herald  wants  the  mere  expansion  which  many 
journals  possess,  we  shall  try  to  make  it  up  in  industry,  good  taste, 
brevity,  variety,  point,  piquancy,  and  cheapness." 

He  proceeded  immediately  to  give  a  specimen  of  the  "  com- 
ments "  thus  described,  in  the  form  of  a  review  of  an  Annual 
Register  just  published.  The  Register  informed  him  that  there 
were  1,492  "rogues  in  the  State  Prison."  His  comment  was: 
"  But  God  only  knows  how  many  out  of  prison,  preying  upon 
the  community,  in  the  shape  of  gamblers,  blacklegs,  speculators, 
and  politicians."  He  learned  from  the  Register  that  the  poor- 
house  contained  6,547  paupers  ;  to  which  he  added,  "  and  double 
the  number  going  there  as  fast  as  indolence  and  intemperance  can 
carry  them."  The  first  numbers  were  filled  with  nonsense  and 
gossip  about  the  city  of  New  York,  to  which  his  poverty  confined 
him.  He  had  no  boat  with  which  to  board  arriving  ships,  no 
share  in  the  pony  express  from  Washington,  and  no  correspond- 
ents in  other  cities.  All  he  could  do  was  to  catch  the  floating 
gossip,  scandal,  and  folly  of  the  town,  and  present  as  much  of 


280  JAMES   GORDON  BENNETT 

them  every  day  as  one  man  could  get  upon  paper  by  sixteen 
hours'  labor.  He  laughed  at  everything  and  everybody,  —  not 
excepting  himself  and  his  squint  eye,  —  and,  though  his  jokes 
were  not  always  good,  they  were  generally  good  enough.  People 
laughed,  and  were  willing  to  expend  a  cent  the  next  day  to  see 
what  new  folly  the  man  would  commit  or  relate.  We  all  like 
to  read  about  our  own  neighborhood:  this  paper  gratified  the 
propensity. 

The  man,  we  repeat,  really  had  a  vein  of  poetry  in  him,  and 
the  first  numbers  of  the  Herald  show  it.  He  had  occasion  to 
mention,  one  day,  that  Broadway  was  about  to  be  paved  with 
wooden  blocks.  This  was  not  a  very  promising  subject  for  a 
poetical  comment ;  but  he  added :  "  When  this  is  done,  every 
vehicle  will  have  to  wear  sleigh-bells  as  in  sleighing  times,  and 
Broadway  will.be  so  quiet  that  you  can  pay  a  compliment  to  a 
lady,  in  passing,  and  she  will  hear  you."  This  was  nothing  in 
itself;  but  here  was  a  man  wrestling  with  fate  in  a  cellar,  who 
could  turn  you  out  two  hundred  such  paragraphs  a  week,  the 
year  round.  Many  men  can  growl  in  a  cellar ;  this  man  could 
laugh,  and  keep  laughing,  and  make  the  floating  population  of  a 
city  laugh  with  him.  It  must  be  owned,  too,  that  he  had  a  little 
real  insight  into  the  nature  of  things  around  him,  —  a  little 
Scotch  sense,  as  well  as  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  French  vivacity. 
Alluding,  once,  to  the  "hard  money"  cry,  by  which  the  lying 
politicians  of  the  day  carried  elections,  he  exploded  that  nonsense 
in  two  lines:  "If  a  man  gets  the  wearable  or  the  eatable  he 
wants,  what  cares  he  whether  he  has  gold  or  paper-money  ? " 
He  devoted  two  sentences  to  the  Old  School  and  New  School 
Presbyterian  controversy :  "  Great  trouble  among  the  Presbyte- 
rians just  now.  The  question  in  dispute  is,  whether  or  not  a  mar. 
can  do  anything  towards  saving  his  own  soul."  He  had,  also,  an 
article  upon  the  Methodists,  in  which  he  said  that  the  two  relig- 
ions nearest  akin  were  the  Methodist  and  the  Roman  Catholic. 
We  should  add  to  these  trifling  specimens  the  fact,  that  he  uni- 
formly maintained,  from  1835  to  the  crash  of  1837,  that  the 
orosperity  of  the  country  was  unreal,  and  would  end  in  disaster 
Perhaps  we  can  afford  space  for  a  single  specimen  of  his  way  of 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HEBALD.          281 

treating  this  subject ;  although  it  can  be  fully  appreciated  only 
by  those  who  are  old  enough  to  remember  the  rage  for  land 
speculation  which  prevailed  in  1836:  — 

"  THE  RICH  POOR  —  THE  POOR  RICH.  — - '  I  have  made  $  50,000 
since  last  January'  said  one  of  these  real-estate  speculators  to  a 
friend. 

" '  The  deuse  yon  nave,'  said  the  other,  looking  up  in  astonishment. 
'  Why,  last  January  you  were  not  worth  a  twenty-dollar  bill.' 

" '  I  know  that ;  but  I  now  calculate  I  'm  worth  full  $  50,000,  if  not 
$  60,000.' 

" '  How  have  you  made  it  ? ' 

"'By  speculating  in  real  estate.  I  bought  three  hundred  lots  at 
Goose  Island  at  $  150  apiece ;  they  are  now  worth  $  400.  I  would  not 
sell  them  for  $  350  apiece,  I  assure  you.' 

" '  Do  you  think  so  ? ' 

" '  Sartain.  I  have  two  hundred  and  fifty  lots  at  Blockhead's  Point, 
worth  S  150  a  piece ;  some  on  them  are  worth  $  200.  I  have  one  hun- 
dred lots  at  Jackass  Inlet,  worth  at  least  $  100,  at  the  very  lowest  cal- 
culation. In  short,  I  'm  worth  a  hull  $  60,000.' 

" '  Well,  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it.  You  can  pay  me  now  the  $  500  you 
have  owed  me  for  these  last  four  years.  There 's  your  note,  I  believe, 
said  he,  handing  the  speculator  a  worn  piece  of  paper  that  had  a  piece 
of  writing  upon  it. 

"The  speculator  looked  blank  at  this.  'Oh!  yes  —  my  —  now  — 
I M  like  —  suppose,'  but  the  words  could  not  form  themselves  into  a 
perfect  sentence. 

" '  I  want  the  money  very  much,'  said  the  other ;  '  I  have  some  pay- 
ments to  make  to-morrow.' 

" '  Why,  you  don't  want  cash  for  it  surely.' 

" '  Yes,  but  I  do.  You  say  you  are  worth  $  60,000,  —  surely  $  500 
is  but  a  trifle  to  pay ;  do  let  me  have  the  cash  on  the  nail,  if  you 
please.' 

" «  Oh  .  —  by  —  well  —  now  —  do  tell  —  really,  I  have  not  get  the 
money  at  present.' 

" '  So  you  can't  pay  it,  eh  ?  A  man  worth  $  60,000,  and  can't  pay 
an  old  debt  of  $500?' 

'"Oh!  yes  I  can  — 111  —  I'll — just  give  you  my  note  for  it  at 
ninety  days.' 

"  '  The  I>— 1  you  will !  A  man  worth  $  60,000,  and  oan  t  pay  $  500 
for  ninety  days  !  what  do  vou  mean  ? ' 


282  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

" '  Well  now,  my  dear  sir,  I  'm  worth  what  I  say.  I  can  pay  you 
There  's  my  property,'  spreading  out  half  a  dozen  very  beautiful  litho- 
graphs ;  '  but  really  I  can't  raise  that  amount  at  present.  Yesterday, 
I  had  to  give  three  per  cent  a  month  for  $  4,000  to  save  my  whole  for- 
tune. I  had  to  look  out  for  the  mortgages.  Take  my  note ;  you  can 
get  it  discounted  for  three  per  cent.' 

" '  No,  I  can't.  If  you  will  give  me  $  250  for  the  debt,  I  shall  give 
the  other  half  to  pay  the  interest  on  your  mortgages.'  .... 

"  Whether  the  proposition  has  been  accepted  we  shall  know  to-mcr- 
row;  but  we  have  many  such  rich  people."  —  Herald,  Oct.  28,  1836. 

But  it  was  not  such  things  as  these  that  established  the  Herald. 
Confined  as  he  was  to  the  limits  of  a  single  town,  and  being  com- 
pelled to  do  everything  with  his  own  hands,  he  could  not  have 
much  in  his  columns  that  we  should  now  call  "  news."  But  what 
is  news  ?  The  answer  to  that  question  involves  the  whole  art, 
mystery,  and  history  of  journalism.  The  time  was  when  news 
signified  the  doings  of  the  king  and  his  court.  This  was  the 
staple  of  the  first  news-letter  writers,  who  were  employed  by 
great  lords,  absent  from  court,  to  send  them  court  intelligence. 
To  this  was  soon  added  news  of  the  doings  of  other  kings  and 
courts ;  and  from  that  day  to  this  the  word  news  has  been  con- 
tinually gaining  increase  of  meaning,  until  now  it  includes  all 
that  the  public  are  curious  to  know,  which  may  be  told  without 
injury  to  the  public  or  injustice  to  individuals.  While  this  man 
was  playing  fantastic  tricks  before  high  Heaven,  his  serious 
thoughts  were  absorbed  in  schemes  to  make  his  paper  the  great 
vehicle  of  news.  Early  in  the  second  month,  while  he  was  still 
losing  money  every  day,  he  hit  upon  a  new  kind  of  news,  which 
perhaps  had  more  to  do  with  the  final  'success  of  the  Herald  than 
any  other  single  thing.  His  working  day,  at  that  time,  was  six- 
teen or  seventeen  hours.  In  the  morning,  from  five  to  eight,  he 
was  busy,  in  the  quiet  of  his  room,  with  those  light,  nonsensical 
paragraphs  and  editorials  which  made  his  readers  smile  in  spite 
of  themselves.  During  the  usual  business  hours  of  the  morning, 
he  was  in  his  cellar,  over  his  flour-barrel  desk,  engaged  in  the  or- 
dinary routine  of  editorial  work ;  not  disdaining  to  sell  the  morn- 
ing paper,  write  advertisements,  and  take  the  money  for  them 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          288 

About  one  o'clock,  having  provided  abundant  copy  for  the  com- 
positors, he  sallied  forth  into  Wall  Street,  picking  up  material  for 
his  stock-tables  and  subjects  for  paragraphs.  From  four  to  six 
he  was  at  his  office  again,  winding  up  the  business  of  the  day. 
In  the  evening  he  was  abroad, — at  theatre,  concert,  ball,  or  pub- 
lic meeting,  —  absorbing  fresh  material  for  his  paper.  He  con- 
verted himself,  as  it  were,  into  a  medium  through  which  the  gos- 
sip, scandal,  fun,  and  nonsense  of  this  great  town  were  daily 
conveyed  back  to  it  for  its  amusement ;  just  as  a  certain  popular 
preacher  is  reported  to  do,  who  spends  six  days  in  circulating 
among  his  parishioners,  and  on  the  seventh  tells  them  all  that 
they  have  taught  him. 

Now  Wall  Street,  during  the  years  that  General  Jackson  was 
disturbing  the  financial  system  by  his  insensate  fury  against  the 
United  States  Bank,  was  to  journalism  what  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  was  in  the  year  1864.  The  crash  of  1837  was  full  two 
years  in  coming  on,  during  which  the  money  market  was  always 
deranged,  and  moneyed  men  were  anxious  and  puzzled.  The 
public  mind,  too,  was  gradually  drawn  to  the  subject,  until  Wall 
Street  was  the  point  upon  which  all  eyes  were  fixed.  The  editor 
of  the  Herald  was  the  first  American  journalist  to  avail  himself 
of  this  state  of  things.  It  occurred  to  him,  when  his  paper  had 
been  five  weeks  in  existence,  to  give  a  little  account  every  day 
of  the  state  of  affairs  in  Wall  Street,  —  the  fluctuations  of  the 
money  market  and  their  causes,  —  the  feeling  and  gossip  of  the 
street.  He  introduced  this  feature  at  the  moment  when  General 
Jackson's  embroilment  with  the  French  Chambers  was  at  its 
height,  and  when  the  return  of  the  American  Minister  was  hour- 
ly expected.  Some  of  our  readers  may  be  curious  to  see  the 
first  "  money  article  "  ever  published  in  the  United  States.  It 
was  as  follows  :  — 

"  COMMERCIAL. 

"  Stocks  yesterday  maintained  their  prices  during  the  session  of  the 
Board,  several  going  up.  Utica  went  up  2  per  cent ;  the  others  sta- 
tionary. Large  quantities  were  sold.  After  the  Board  adjourned  and 
the  nows  from  France  was  talked  over,  the  fancy  stocks  generally  went 
down  1  to  l£  per  cent ;  other  stocks  quite  firm.  A  rally  was  made  by 


284  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

the  bulls  in  the  evening,  under  the  trees,  but  it  did  not  succeed.  Thero 
will  be  a  great  fight  in  the  Board  to-day.  The  good  people  up  town 
are  anxious  to  know  what  the  brokers  think  of  Mr.  Livingston.  We 
shall  find  out,  and  let  them  know. 

"  The  cotton  and  flour  market  rallied  a  little.  The  rise  of  cotton  in 
Liverpool  drove  it  up  here  a  cent  or  so.  The  last  shippers  will  make 
2^  per  cent.  Many  are  endeavoring  to  produce  a  belief  that  there 
will  be  a  war.  If  the  impression  prevails,  naval  stores  will  go  up  a 
good  deal.  Every  eye  is  outstretched  for  the  Constitution.  Hudson, 
of  the  Merchants'  News  Room,  says  he  will  hoist  out  the  first  flag. 
Gilpin,  of  the  Exchange  News  Room,  says  he  will  have  her  name 
down  in  his  Room  one  hour  before  his  competitor.  The  latter  claims 
having  beat  Hudson  yesterday  by  an  hour  and  ten  minutes  in  chroni- 
cling the  England."  —  Herald,  June  13,  1835. 

This  was  his  first  attempt.  The  money  article  constantly 
lengthened  and  increased  in  importance.  It  won  for  the  little 
paper  a  kind  of  footing  in  brokers'  offices  and  bank  parlors,  and 
provided  many  respectable  persons  with  an  excuse  for  buying  it. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  month,  the  daily  receipts  equalled  the 
daily  expenditures.  A  cheap  police  reporter  was  soon  after  en 
gaged.  In  the  course  of  the  next  month,  the  printing-office  was 
burnt,  and  the  printers,  totally  discouraged,  abandoned  the  enter- 
prise. The  editor  —  who  felt  that  he  had  caught  the  public  ear,  as 
he  had  —  contrived,  by  desperate  exertions,  to  "  rake  the  Herald 
out  of  the  fire,"  as  he  said,  and  went  on  alone.  Four  months 
after,  the  great  fire  laid  Wall  Street  low,  and  all  the  great  busi- 
ness streets  adjacent.  Here  was  his  first  real  opportunity  as  a 
journalist ;  and  how  he  improved  it !  —  spending  one  half  of 
every  day  among  the  ruins,  note-book  in  hand,  and  the  other  half 
over  his  desk,  writing  out  what  he  had  gathered.  He  spread  be- 
fore the  public  reports  so  detailed,  unconventional,  and  graphic, 
that  a  reader  sitting  at  his  ease  in  his  own  room  became,  as  it 
were,  an  eyewitness  of  those  appalling  scenes.  His  accounts  of 
that  fire,  and  of  the  events  following  it,  are  such  as  Defoe  would 
have  given  if  he  had  been  a  New  York  reporter.  Still  strug- 
gling for  existence,  he  went  to  the  expense  (great  then)  of  pub- 
lishing a  picture  of  the  burning  Exchange,  and  a  map  of  the  burnt 
district.  American  journalism  was  born  amid  the  roaring  flames 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          285 

of  the  great  fire  of  1835 ;  and  no  true  journalist  will  deny,  that 
from  that  day  to  this,  whenever  any  very  remarkable  event  has 
taken  place  in  the  city  of  New  York,  the  Herald  reports  of  it 
have  generally  been  those  which  cost  most  money  and  exhibited 
most  of  the  spirit  and  detail  of  the  scene.  For  some  years  every 
dollar  that  the  Herald  made  was  expended  in  news,  and,  to  this 
hour,  no  other  journal  equals  it  in  daily  expenditure  for  intelli- 
gence. If,  to-morrow,  we  were  to  have  another  great  fire,  like 
that  of  thirty  years  ago,  this  paper  would  have  twenty-five  men 
in  the  streets  gathering  particulars. 

But  so  difficult  is  it  to  establish  a  daily  newspaper,  that  at  the 
end  of  a  ye"ar  it  was  not  yet  certain  that  the  Herald  could  con- 
tinue. A  lucky  contract  with  a  noted  pill-vender  gave  it  a  great 
lift  about  that  time ;  *  and  in  the  fifteenth  month,  the  editor  ven- 

*  We  copy  the  following  from  Mr.  Gowan's  narrative :  "  Dr.  Benjamin  Bran- 
dreth,  of  well  and  wide-spread  reputation,  and  who  has  made  more  happy  and 
comfortable,  for  a  longer  or  shorter  time,  as  the  case  may  be,  by  his  prescrip- 
tions than  any  other  son  of  Jlscnlapius,  hailed  me  one  day  as  I  jumped  from  a 
railroad  car  passing  up  and  along  the  shores  of  the  Hudson  River,  and  immedi- 
ately commenced  the  following  narrative.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  copy  of  the 
New  York  Herald.  '  Do  you  know,'  said  he,  holding  up  the  paper  to  my  face, 
'  that  it  was  by  and  through  your  agency  that  this  paper  ever  became  success- 
fill  ?'  I  replied  in  the  negative.  *  Then,'  continued  he, '  I  will  unfold  the  secret 
to  you  of  how  you  became  instrumental  in  this  matter.  Shortly  after  my 
arrival  in  America,  I  began  looking  about  me  how  I  was  to  dispose  of  my  pills 
by  agents  and  other  means.  Among  others,  I  called  upon  you,  then  a  bookseller 
In  Chatham  Street.  After  some  conversation  on  the  subject  of  my  errand,  a 
contract  was  soon  entered  into  between  us,  —  you  to  sell  and  I  to  furnish  the 
said  pills;  but,'  continued  he, '  these  pills  will  be  of  no  use  to  me  or  any  one  else 
unless  they  can  be  made  known  to  the  public,  or  rather  the  great  herd  of  the 
people ;  and  that  can  only  be  done  by  advertising  through  some  paper  which 
goes  into  the  hands  of  the  many.  Can  you  point  out  to  me  any  such  paper, 
published  in  the  city  ? '  After  a  short  pause  I  in  substance  said  that  there  had 
lateiy  started  a  small  penny  paper,  which  had  been  making  a  great  noise  during 
its  existence;  and  I  had  reason  to  believe  it  had  obtained  a  very  considerable 
circulation  among  that  class  of  people  which  he  desired  to  reach  by  advertising, 
and  so  concluded  that  it  would  be  the  oest  paper  in  the  city  for  his  purpose, 
provided  he  could  make  terms  with  the  owner,  who,  I  had  no  doubt,  would  be 
well  disposed,  as  in  all  probability  he  stood  in  need  of  patronage  of  this  kind. 
'I  immediately,'  continued  the  doctor,  'adopted  your  advice,  went  direct!}-  to 
Mr.  Bennett,  made  terms  with  him  for  advertising,  and  for  a  long  time  paid  him 
a  very  considerable  sum  weekly  for  the  use  of  his  column*,  which  tended 
greatly  t«  aid  to  both  his  and  my  own  treasury.  The  editor  of  the  Herald 


286  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

tured  to  raise  his  price  to  two  cents.  From  that  day  he  had  a 
business,  and  nothing  remained  for  him  but  to  go  on  as  he  had 
begun.  He  did  so.  The  paper  exhibits  now  the  same  qualities 
as  it  did  then,  —  immense  expenditure  and  vigilance  in  getting 
news,  and  a  reckless  disregard  of  principle,  truth,  and  decency 
in  its  editorials. 

Almost  from  the  first  month  of  its  existence,  this  paper  was 
deemed  infamous  by  the  very  public  that  supported  it.  We  can 
well  remember  when  people  bought  it  on  the  sly,  and  blushed 
when  they  were  caught  reading  it,  and  when  the  man  in  a 
country  place  who  subscribed  for  it  intended  by  that  act  to  dis- 
tinctly enroll  himself  as  one  of  the  ungodly.  JournaJists  should 
thoroughly  consider  this  most  remarkable  fact.  We  have  had 
plenty  of  infamous  papers,  but  they  have  all  been  short-lived  but 
this.  This  one  has  lasted.  After  thirty-one  years  of  life,  it 
appears  to  be  almost  as  flourishing  to-day  as  ever.  The  fore- 
most of  its  rivals  has  a  little  more  than  half  its  circulation,  and 
less  than  half  its  income.  A  marble  palace  is  rising  to  receive  it, 
and  its  proprietor  fares  as  sumptuously  every  day  as  the  ducal 
family  who  furnished  him  with  his  middle  name. 

Let  us  see  how  the  Herald  acquired  its  ill  name.  We  shall 
then  know  why  it  is  still  so  profoundly  odious  ;  for  it  has  never 
changed,  and  can  never  change,  while  its  founder  controls  it. 
Its  peculiarities  are  his  peculiarities. 

He  came  into  collision,  first  of  all,  with  the  clergy  and  people 
of  his  own  Church,  the  Roman  Catholic.  Thirty  years  ago,  as 
«ome  of  our  readers  may  remember,  Catholics  and  Protestants 
had  not  yet  learned  to  live  together  in  the  same  community  with 
perfect  tolerance  of  one  another's  opinions  and  usages  ;  and  there 
were  still  some  timid  persons  who  feared  the  rekindling  of  the 
fagot,  and  the  supremacy  of  the  Pope  in  the  United  States.  A 
controversy  growing  out  of  these  apprehensions  had  been  pro- 

afterwards  acknowledged  to  me  that  but  for  his  advertising  patronage  he  would 
have  been  compelled  to  collapse.  Hence,'  said  he,  'had  I  never  called  on  yon 
in  all  probability  I  should  not  have  had  my  attention  turned  to  the  New  York 
Herald;  and,  as  a  consequence,  that  sheet  would  never  have  had  my  advertis- 
ing; and  that  paper  would  have  been  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  perhaps  (iitirelj 
forgotten.' " 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          287 

Ceeding  for  some  time  in  the  newspapers  when  this  impudent 
little  Herald  first  appeared.  The  new-comer  joined  in  the  fray, 
and  sided  against  the  Church  in  which  he  was  born ;  but  laid 
about  him  in  a  manner  which  disgusted  both  parties.  For  ex- 
ample :  — 

"As  a  Catholic,  we  call  upon  the  Catholic  Bishop  and  clergy  of  New 
York  to  come  forth  from  the  darkness,  folly,  and  superstition  of  the 
tenth  century.  They  live  in  the  nineteenth.  There  can  be  no  mis- 
take about  it, — they  will  be  convinced  of  this  fact  if  they  look  into 
the  almanac.  .  .'  .  . 

"  But  though  we  want  a  thorough  reform,  we  do  not  wish  them  to 
discard  their  greatest  absurdities  at  the  first  breath.  We  know  the 
difficulty  of  the  task.  Disciples,  such  as  the  Irish  are,  will  stick  with 
greater  pertinacity  to  absurdities  and  nonsense  than  to  reason  and 
common  sense.  We  have  no  objection  to  the  doctrine  of  Transubstan- 
tiation  being  tolerated  for  a  few  years  to  come.  We  may  for  a  while 
indulge  ourselves  in  the  delicious  luxury  of  creating  and  eating  our 
Divinity.  A  peculiar  taste  of  this  kind,  like  smoking  tobacco  or  drink- 
ing whiskey,  cannot  be  given  up  all  at  once.  The  ancient  Egyptians, 
for  many  years  after  they  had  lost  every  trace  of  the  intellectual  char- 
acter of  their  religion,  yet  worshipped  and  adored  the  ox,  the  bull,  and 
the  crocodile.  They  had  not  discovered  the  art,  as  we  Catholics  have 
done,  of  making  a  God  out  of  bread,  and  of  adoring  and  eating  him  at 
one  and  the  same  moment.  This  latter  piece  of  sublimity  or  religious 
cookery  (we  don't  know  which)  was  reserved  for  the  educated  and 
talented  clergy  from  the  tenth  up  to  the  nineteenth  century.  Yet  we 
do  not  advise  the  immediate  disturbance  of  this  venerable  piece  of 
rottenness  and  absurdity.  It  must  be  retained,  as  we  would  retain 
carefully  the  tooth  of  a  saint  or  the  jawbone  of  a  martyr,  till  the  natu- 
ral progress  of  reason  in  the  Irish  mind  shall  be  able,  silently  and 
imperceptibly,  to  drop  it  among  the  forgotten  rubbish  of  his  early 
loves,  or  his  more  youthful  riots  and  rows. 

"  There  must  be  a  thorough  reformation  and  revolution  in  the 
American  Catholic  Church.  Education  must  be  more  attended  to. 
We  never  knew  one  priest  who  believed  that  he  ate  the  Divinity  when 
he  took  the  Eucharist.  If  we  must  have  a  Pope,  let  us  have  a  Pope 
of  our  own,  —  an  American  Pope,  an  intellectual,  intelligent,  and 
moral  Pope,  —  not  such  a  decrepit,  licentious,  stupid,  Italian  blockhead 
as  the  College  of  Cardinals  at  Rome  condescends  to  give  the  Christian 
world  of  Europe." 


288  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

This  might  be  good  advice ;  but  no  serious  Protestant,  at  that 
day,  could  relish  the  tone  in  which  it  was  given.  Threatening 
letters  were  sent  in  from  irate  and  illiterate  Irishmen ;  the  Her- 
ald was  denounced  from  a  Catholic  pulpit ;  its  carriers  were 
assaulted  on  their  rounds ;  but  the  paper  won  no  friends  from  the 
side  which  it  affected  to  espouse.  Every  one  felt  that  to  this 
man  nothing  was  sacred,  or  august,  or  venerable,  or  even  serious. 
He  was  like  an  unbeliever  in  a  party  composed  of  men  of  various 
sects.  The  Baptist  could  fairly  attack  an  Episcopalian,  because 
he  had  convictions  of  his  own  that  could  be  assaulted ;  but  this 
stranger,  who  believed  nothing  and  respected  nothing,  could  not 
be  hit  at  all.  The  result  would  naturally  be,  that  the  whole 
company  would  turn  upon  him  as  upon  a  common  foe. 

So  in  politics.  Perhaps  the  most  serious  and  sincere  article  he 
ever  wrote  on  a  political  subject  was  one  that  appeared  in  No- 
vember, 1836,  in  which  he  recommended  the  subversion  of  re- 
publican institutions  and  the  election  of  an  emperor.  If  he  ever 
had  a  political  conviction,  we  believe  he  expressed  it  then.  After 
a  rigmarole  of  Roman  history  and  Augustus  Caesar,  he  proceeded 
thus :  — 

"  Shall  we  not  profit  by  these  examples  of  history  ?  Let  us,  for  tho 
sake  of  science,  art,  and  civilization,  elect  at  this  election  General  Jack- 
son, General  Harrison,  Martin  Van  Buren,  Hugh  White,  or  Anybody, 
we  care  not  whom,  the  EMPEROR  of  this  great  REPUBLIC  for  life,  and 
have  done  with  this  eternal  turmoil  and  confusion.  Perhaps  Mr.  Van 
Buren  would  be  the  best  Augustus  Csesar.  He  is  sufficiently  corrupt, 
selfish,  and  heartless  for  that  dignity.  He  has  a  host  of  favorites  that 
will  easily  form  a  Senate.  He  has  a  court  in  preparation,  and  the 
Praetorian  bands  in  array.  He  can  pick  up  a  Livia  anywhere.  He 
has  violated  every  pledge,  adopted  and  abandoned  every  creed,  been 
for  and  against  every  measure,  is  a  believer  in  all  religions  by  turns, 
and,  like  the  first  Caesar,  has  always  been  a  republican  and  taken  care 
of  number  one.  He  has  called  into  action  all  the  ragged  adventurers 
from  every  class,  and  raised  their  lands,  stocks,  lots,  and  places  without 
end.  He  is  smooth,  agreeable,  oily,  as  Octavianus  was.  He  has  a  couple 
of  sons,  also,  who  might  succeed  him  and  preserve  the  imperial  line. 
We  may  be  better  off  under  an  Emperor,  —  we  could  not  be  worse  oiF 
as  a  nation  than  we  are  now.  Besides,  who  knows  but  Van  Buren  is 
of  the  blood  of  the  great  Julius  himself?  That  great  man  conquered 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          289 

all  Gaul  and  Helvetia,  which  in  those  days  comprised  Holland.  Caius 
Julius  Caesar  may  thus  have  laid  the  foundation  of  a  royal  line  to  b* 
transmitted  to  the  West.  There  is  a  prophecy  in  Virgil's  '  Pollio '  evi- 
dently alluding  to  Van.  But  of  this  another  day. 

A  man  who  writes  in  this  way  may  have  readers,  but  he  can 
have  no  friends.  An  event  occurred  in  his  first  year  which  re- 
vealed this  fact  to  him  in  an  extremely  disagreeable  manner. 
There  was  then  upon  the  New  York  stage  a  notoriously  dissolute 
actor,  who,  after  outraging  the  feelings  of  his  wife  in  all  the  usual 
modes,  completed  his  infamy  by  denouncing  her  from  the  stage 
of  a  crowded  theatre.  The  Herald  took  her  part,  which  would 
naturally  have  been  the  popular  side.  But  when  the  actor  re- 
torted by  going  to  the  office  of  the  Herald  and  committing  upon 
its  proprietor  a  most  violent  and  aggravated  assault,  accompany- 
ing his  blows  with  acts  of  peculiar  indecency,  it  plainly  appeared, 
that  the  sympathies  of  the  public  were  wholly  with  the  actor,  — 
not  with  the  champion  of  an  injured  woman.  His  hand  had  been 
against  every  man,  and  in  his  hour  of  need,  when  he  was  greatly 
in  the  right,  every  heart  was  closed  against  him.  Not  the  less, 
however,  did  the  same  public  buy  his  paper,  because  it  contained 
what  the  public  wanted,  i.  e.  the  news  of  the  day,  vividly  ex- 
hibited. 

The  course  of  this  curious  specimen  of  our  kind  during  the 
late  <var  was  perfectly  characteristic.  During  the  first  two  years 
of  the  war  he  was  inclined  to  think  that  the  Rebels  would  be  suc- 
cessful so  far  as  to  win  over  the  Democratic  party  to  their  side, 
and  thus  constitute  Jefferson  Davis  President  of  the  United 
States.  If  he  had  any  preference  as  to  the  result  of  the  contest, 
it  was  probably  this.  If  the  flag  of  the  United  States  had  been 
trailed  in  the  mud  of  Nassau  Street,  followed  by  hooting  ruffians 
from  the  Sixth  "Ward,  and  the  symbol  of  the  Rebellion  had  floated 
in  its  stead  from  the.  cupola  of  the  City  Hall,  saluted  by  Captain 
Rynders's  gun,  it  would  not  have  cost  this  isolated  alien  one  pang, 
—  unless,  perchance,  a  rival  newspaper  had  been  the  first  to  an- 
nounce the  fact.  That,  indeed,  would  have  cut  him  to  the  heart. 
Acting  upon  the  impression  that  the  Rebellion,  in  some  way, 
would  triumph,  he  gave  it  all  the  support  possible,  and  continued 
IS  • 


290  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

to  do  so  until  it  appeared  certain  that,  whatever  the  issue  of  the 
strife,  the  South  was  lost  for  a  long  time  as  a  patron  of  New 
York  papers. 

The  key  to  most  of  the  political  vagaries  of  this  paper  is  given 
in  a  single  sentence  of  one  of  its  first  numbers :  "  We  have  nevei 
been  in  a  minority,  and  we  never  shall  be."  In  his  endeavors  to 
act  upon  this  lofty  principle,  he  was  sadly  puzzled  during  the  war, 
—  so  difficult  was  it  to  determine  which  way  the  cat  would  finally 
jump.  He  held  himself  ready,  however,  to  jump  with  it,  which- 
ever side  the  dubious  animal  might  select.  At  the  same  time,  he 
never  for  an  instant  relaxed  his  endeavors  to  obtain  the  earliest 
and  fullest  intelligence  from  the  seat  of  war.  Never  perhaps  did 
any  journal  in  any  country  maintain  so  great  an  expenditure  for 
news.  Every  man  in  the  field  representing  that  paper  was  more 
than  authorized  —  he  was  encouraged  and  commanded  —  to  in- 
cur any  expense  whatever  that  might  be  necessary  either  in  get- 
ting or  forwarding  intelligence.  There  were  no  rigid  or  grudg- 
ing scrutiny  of  reporters'  drafts  ;  no  minute  and  insulting  inquiries 
respecting  the  last  moments  of  a  horse  ridden  to  death  in  the  ser- 
vice ;  no  grumbling  about  the  precise  terms  of  a  steamboat 
charter,  or  a  special  locomotive.  A  reporter  returning  from  the 
army  laden  with  information,  procured  at  a  lavish  expense,  was 
received  in  the  office  like  a  conqueror  coming  home  from  a  victo- 
rious campaign,  and  he  went  forth  again  full  of  courage  and  zeal, 
knowing  well  that  every  man  employed  on  the  Herald  was  ad- 
vancing himself  when  he  served  the  paper  well.  One  great  se- 
cret of  success  the  proprietor  of  the  Herald  knows  better  than 
most ;  —  he  knows  how  to  get  out  of  those  who  serve  him  all 
there  is  in  them  ;  he  knows  how  to  reward  good  service  ;  he 
knows  a  man's  value  to  him.  There  is  no  newspaper  office  in 
the  world  where  real  journalistic  efficiency  is  more  certain  to 
meet  prompt  recognition  and  just  reward  than  in  this.  Not  much 
may  bo  said  to  a  laborious  reporter  about  the  hits  he  is  making ; 
but,  on  some  Saturday  afternoon,  when  he  draws  his  salary,  he 
finds  in  his  hands  a  larger  amount  than  usual.  He  hands  it 
back  to  have  the  mistake  corrected,  and^ie  is  informed  that  his 
salary  is  raised. 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          291 

The  Herald,  too,  systematically  prepares  the  way  for  its  re- 
porters. Some  of  our  readers  may  remember  how  lavishly  this 
paper  extolled  General  McClellan  during  the  time  of  his  glory, 
and  indeed  as  long  as  he  held  the  chief  command.  One  of  the 
results  of  this  policy  was,  that,  while  the  reporters  of  other  papers 
were  out  in  the  cold,  writing  in  circumstances  the  most  incon« 
venient,  those  of  the  Herald,  besides  being  supplied  with  the  best 
information,  were  often  writing  in  a  warm  apartment  or  commo- 
dious tent,  not  far  from  head-quarters  or  at  head-quarters.  As 
long  as  General  Butler  held  a  command  which  gave  him  control 
over  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  news,  the  Herald  hoarded  its 
private  grudge  against  him ;  but  the  instant  he  was  removed  from 
command,  the  Herald  was  after  him  in  full  cry.  If,  to-morrow, 
the  same  General  should  be  placed  in  a  position  which  should 
render  his  office  a  source  of  important  intelligence,  we  should  prob- 
ably read  in  the  Herald  the  most  glowing  eulogiums  of  his  career 
and  character. 

"What  are  we  to  think  of  a  man  who  is  at  once  so  able  and  so 
false  ?  It  would  be  incorrect  to  call  him  a  liar,  because  he  is 
wanting  in  that  sense  of  truth  by  violating  which  a  man  makes 
himself  a  liar.  We  cannot  call  him  a  traitor,  for  his  heart  knows 
no  country ;  nor  an  infidel,  for  all  the  serious  and  high  concerns 
of  man  are  to  him  a  jest.  Defective  is  the  word  to  apply  to  such 
as  he.  As  far  as  he  goes,  he  is  good  ;  and  if  the  commodity  in 
which  he  deals  were  cotton  or  sugar,  we  could  commend  his  en- 
terprise and  tact.  He  is  like  the  steeple  of  a  church  in  New 
York,  which  was  built  up  to  a  certain  height,  when  the  material 
gave  out,  and  it  was  hastily  roofed  in,  leaving  the  upper  half  of 
the  architect's  design  unexecuted.  That  region  of  the  mind  where 
conviction,  the  sense  of  truth  and  honor,  public  spirit  and  patriot- 
ism have  their  sphere,  is  in  this  man  mere  vacancy.  But,  we  re- 
peat, as  far  as  he  is  built  up,  he  is  very  well  constructed.  Visit 
him  :  you  see  before  you  a  quiet-mannered,  courteous,  and  good- 
natured  old  gentleman,  who  is  on  excellent  terms  with  himself 
and  with  the  world.  If  you  are  a  poor  musician,  about  to  give  a 
concert,  no  editor  is  more  likely  than  he  to  lend  a  favorable  eai 
to  your  request  for  a  few  lines  of  preliminary  notice.  The  per 


292  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

BODS  about  him  hare  been  very  long  in  his  employment,  and  to 
some  of  them  he  has  been  munificently  liberal.  The  best  of  them 
appear  to  be  really  attached  to  his  person,  as  well  as  devoted  to 
his  service,  and  they  rely  on  him  as  sailors  rely  on  a  captain  who 
has  brought  them  safe  through  a  thousand  storms.  He  has  the 
Celtic  virtue  of  standing  by  those  who  stand  by  him  developed  to 
the  uttermost  degree.  Many  a  slight  favor  bestowed  upon  him 
in  his  days  of  obscurity  he  has  recompensed  a  thousand-fold  since 
he  has  had  the  power  to  do  so.  We  cannot  assign  a  very  exalted 
rank  in  the  moral  scale  to  a  trait  which  some  of  the  lowest  race? 
possess  in  an  eminent  degree,  and  which  easily  runs  into  narrow- 
ness and  vice ;  nevertheless,  it  is  akin  to  nobleness,  and  is  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  true  generosity  that  some  strong  natures 
can  attain. 

What  are  we  to  say  of  the  public  that  has  so  resolutely  sus- 
tained this  paper,  which  the  outside  world  so  generally  condemns? 
We  say  this.  Every  periodical  that  thrives  supplies  the  public, 
with  a  certain  description  of  intellectual  commodity,  which  the 
public  is  willing  to  pay  for.  The  New  York  Ledger,  for  exam- 
ple, exists  by  furnishing  stories  and  poetry  adapted  to  the  taste  of 
the  greatest  number  of  the  people.  Our  spirited  friends  of  The 
Nation  and  Round  Table  supply  criticism  and  that  portion  of  the 
news  which  is  of  special  interest  to  the  intellectual  class.  The 
specialty  of  the  daily  newspaper  is  to  give  that  part  of  the  news 
of  the  day  which  interests  the  whole  public.  A  complete  news- 
paper contains  more  than  this  ;  but  it  ranks  in  the  world  of  jour- 
nalism exactly  in  the  degree  to  which  it  does  this.  The  grand 
object  of  the  true  journalist  is  to  be  fullest,  promptest,  and  most 
correct  on  the  one  uppermost  topic  of  the  hour.  That  secured, 
he  may  neglect  all  else.  The  paper  that  does  this  oftenest  is  the 
paper  that  will  find  most  purchasers ;  and  no  general  excellence, 
no  array  of  information  on  minor  or  special  topics,  will  ever  atone 
for  a  deficiency  on  the  subject  of  most  immediate  and  universal 
interest.  During  the  war  this  fundamental  truth  of  journalism 
was  apparent  to  every  mind.  In  time  of  peace,  it  is  less  appar- 
ent, but  not  less  a  truth.  In  the  absence  of  an  absorbing  topic, 
genera)  news  rises  in  importance,  until,  in  the  dearth  of  the  dog- 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          293 

days,  the  great  cucumber  gets  into  type ;  but  the  great  point  of 
competition  is  still  the  same,  —  to  be  fullest,  quickest,  and  most 
correct  upon  the  subject  most  interesting  at  the  moment. 

But  every  periodical,  besides  its  specialty  on  which  it  lives, 
gives  its  readers  something  more.  It  need  not,  but  it  does.  The 
universal  Ledger  favors  its  readers  with  many  very  excellent  es- 
says, written  for  it  by  distinguished  clergymen,  editors,  and  au- 
thors, and  gives  its  readers  a  great  deal  of  sound  advice  in  other 
departments  of  the  paper.  It  need  not  do  this  ;  these  features  do 
not  materially  affect  the  sale  of  the  paper,  as  its  proprietor  wel? 
knows.  The  essays  of  such  men  as  Mr.  Everett  and  Mr.  Ban- 
croft do  not  increaoe  the  sale  of  the  paper  one  hundred  copies  a 
week.  Those  essays  are  read  and  admired,  and  contribute  their 
quota  toward  the  education  of  the  people,  and  reflect  honor  upon 
the  liberal  and  enterprising  man  who  publishes  them ;  but  scarcely 
any  one  buys  the  paper  for  their  sake.  People  almost  univer- 
sally buy  a  periodical  for  the  special  thing  which  it  has  under- 
taken to  furnish ;  and  it  is  by  supplying  this  special  thing  that  an 
editor  attains  his  glorious  privilege  and  opportunity  of  addressing 
a  portion  of  the  people  on  other  topics.  This  opportunity  he  may 
neglect ;  he  may  abuse  it  to  the  basest  purposes,  or  improve  it  to 
the  noblest,  but  whichever  of  these  things  he  does,  it  does  not 
materially  affect  the  prosperity  of  his  paper,  —  always  supposing 
that  his  specialty  is  kept  up  with  the  requisite  vigor.  We  have 
gone  over  the  whole  history  of  journalism,  and  we  find  this  to  be 
its  Law  of  Nature,  to  which  there  are  only  apparent  exceptions. 

All  points  to  this  simple  conclusion,  which  we  firmly  believe  to 
be  the  golden  rule  of  journalism:  —  that  daily  newspaper  which 
has  the  best  corps  of  reporters,  and  handles  them  best,  necessarily 
takes  the  lead  of  all  competitors. 

There  are  journalists  who  say  (we  have  often  heard  them  in 
conversation)  that  this  is  a  low  view  to  take  of  their  vocation. 
It  is  of  no  importance  whether  a  view  is  high  or  low,  provided  it 
is  correct.  But  we  cannot  agree  with  them  that  this  is  a  low 
view.  We  think  it  the  highest  possible.  Regarded  as  instruc- 
tors of  the  people,  they  wield  for  our  warning  and  rebuke,  for 
our  encouragement  and  reward,  an  instrument  ^vhich  is  like  the 


294  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

dread  thunderbolt  of  Jove,  at  once  the  most  terrible  and  the  most 
beneficent, — publicity.  Some  years  ago,  a  number  of  ill-favored 
and  prurient  women  and  a  number  of  licentious  men  formed 
themselves  into  a  kind  of  society  for  the  purpose  of  devising  and 
promulgating  a  theory  to  justify  the  gratification  of  unbridled 
lust.  They  were  called  Free-Lovers.  To  have  assailed  their 
nightly  gatherings  in  thundering  editorial  articles  would  have 
only  advertised  them ;  but  a  detailed  report  of  their  proceedings 
in  the  Tribune  scattered  these  assemblies  in  a  few  days,  to  meet 
no  more  except  in  secret  haunts.  Recently,  we  have  seen  the 
Fenian  wind-bag  first  inflated,  then  burst,  by  mere  publicity. 
The  Strong  Divorce  Case,  last  year,  was  a  nauseous  dose,  which 
we  would  have  gladly  kept  out  of  the  papers ;  but  since  it  had  to 
appear,  it  was  a  public  benefit  to  have  it  given,  Herald-fashion, 
with  all  its  revolting  particulars.  What  a  punishment  to  the 
guilty !  what  a  lesson  to  the  innocent !  what  a  warning  to  the  un- 
detected !  How  much  beneficial  reflection  and  conversation  it  ex- 
cited !  How  necessary,  in  an  age  of  sensation  morals  and  free- 
love  theories,  to  have  self-indulgence  occasionally  exhibited  in  all 
'ts  hideous  nastiness,  and  without  any  of  its  fleeting,  deceptive, 
imaginary  charms !  The  instantaneous  detection  of  the  Otero 
murderers  last  autumn,  and  of  the  robbers  of  Adams's  express- 
car  last  winter,  as  related  in  the  daily  papers,  and  the  picture 
presented  by  them  of  young  Ketchum  seated  at  work  in  the  shoe- 
shop  of  Sing-Sing  Prison,  were  equivalent  to  the  addition  of  a 
thousand  men  to  the  police  force.  Herein  lies  the  power  of  such 
a  slight  person  as  the  editor  of  the  Herald.  It  is  not  merely  that 
he  impudently  pulls  your  nose,  but  he  pulls  it  in  the  view  of  a 
million  people. 

Nor  less  potent  is  publicity  as  a  means  of  reward.  How  many 
brave  hearts  during  the  late  war  felt  themselves  far  more  than 
repaid  for  all  their  hardships  in  the  field  and  their  agony  in  the 
hospital  by  reading  their  names  in  despatches,  or  merely  in  the 
list  of  wounded,  and  thinking  of  the  breakfast-tables  far  away  at 
which  that  name  had  been  spied  out  and  read  with  mingled  ex 
ultation  and  pity.  "  Those  who  love  me  know  that  I  did  my 
duty,  —  it  is  enough." 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          295 

Our  whole  observation  of  the  daily  press  convinces  us  that  its 
power  to  do  good  arises  chiefly  from  its  giving  the  news  of  the 
day ;  and  its  power  to  do  harm  chiefly  from  its  opportunity  to 
comment  upon  the  news.  Viewed  only  as  a  vehicle  of  intelli- 
gence, the  Herald  has  taught  the  journalists  of  the  United  States 
the  greater  part  of  all  that  they  yet  know  of  their  profession  ;  re- 
garded as  an  organ  of  opinion,  it  has  done  all  that  it  was  ever 
possible  for  a  newspaper  to  do  in  perverting  public  opinion,  de- 
bauching public  taste,  offending  public  morals,  and  dishonoring 
the  national  character. 

The  question  arises,  Why  has  not  this  paper  been  long  ago  out- 
done in  giving  the  news  ?  It  has  always  been  possible  td  sup- 
press it  by  surpassing  it.  Its  errors  have  given  its  rivals  an  im- 
mense advantage  over  it ;  for  it  has  always  prospered,  not  in 
consequence  of  its  badness,  but  of  its  goodness.  We  are  ac- 
quainted with  two  foolish  young  patriots  who  were  wrought  up  to 
such  a  frenzy  of  disgust  by  its  traitorous  course  during  the  first 
half  of  our  late  war,  that  they  seriously  considered  whether  there 
was  any  way  in  which  they  could  so  well  serve  their  country  in 
its  time  of  need,  as  by  slaying  that  pernicious  and  insolent  editor  ; 
but  both  of  those  amiable  lunatics  were  compelled  occasionally  to 
buy  the  paper.  Of  late,  too,  we  have  seen  vast  audiences  break 
forth  into  wild  hootings  at  the  mention  of  its  name  ;  but  not  the 
less  did  the  hooters  buy  it  the  next  morning.  Nevertheless,  as 
soon  as  there  exists  a  paper  which  to  the  Herald's  good  points 
adds  the  other  features  of  a  complete  newspaper,  and  avoids  its 
faults,  from  that  hour  the  Herald  wanes  and  falls  speedily  to  the 
second  rank. 

Two  men  have  had  it  in  their  power  to  produce  such  a  news- 
paper,—  Horace  Greeley  and  Henry  J.  Raymond.  In  1841, 
when  the  Herald  was  six  years  old,  the  Tribune  appeared,  edited 
by  Mr.  Greeley,  with  Mr.  Raymond  as  his  chief  assistant.  Mr. 
Greeley  was  then,  and  is  now,  the  best  writer  of  editorials  in  the 
United  States ;  that  is,  he  can  produce  a  greater  quantity  of  tell- 
ing editorial  per  annum  than  any  other  individual.  There  never 
lived  a  man  capable  of  working  more  hours  in  a  year  than  he. 
Strictly  temperate  in  his  habits,  and  absolutely  devoted  to  hia 


296  JAMES   GORDON  BENNETT 

work,  he  threw  himself  into  this  enterprise  with  an  ardor  never 
surpassed  since  Adam  first  tasted  the  sweets  of  honorable  toil. 
Mr.  Raymond,  then  recently  from  college,  very  young,  wholly 
inexperienced,  was  endowed  with  an  admirable  aptitude  for  the 
work  of  journalism,  and  a  power  of  getting  through  its  routine 
labors,  —  a  sustained,  calm,  swift  industry,  —  unsurpassed  at  that 
time  in  the  American  press.  The  business  of  the  paper  was  also 
well  managed  by  Mr.  McElrath.  In  the  hands  of  these  able  men, 
the  new  paper  made  such  rapid  advances,  that,  in  the  course  of 
a  few  months,  it  was  fairly  established,  and  in  a  year  or  two  it 
had  reached  a  circulation  equal  to  that  of  the  Herald.  One  after 
another,  excellent  writers  were  added  to  its  corps  ;  —  the  vigor- 
ous, prompt,  untiring  Dana ;  George  Ripley,  possessing  that  blend 
ing  of  scholarship  and  tact,  that  wisdom  of  the  cloister  and  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  which  alone  could  fit  a  man  of  great  learning 
and  talent  for  the  work  of  a  daily  newspaper ;  Margaret  Fuller, 
whose  memory  is  still  green  in  so  many  hearts  ;  Bayard  Taylor, 
the  versatile,  and  others,  less  universally  known. 

Why,  then,  did  not  this  powerful  combination  supplant  the 
Herald  ?  If  mere  ability  in  the  writing  of  a  newspaper  ;  if  to 
have  given  an  impulse  to  thought  and  enterprise  ;  if  to  have  WOD 
the  admiration  and  gratitude  of  a  host  of  the  best  men  and  worn 
en  in  America ;  if  to  have  inspired  many  thousands  of  young 
men  with  better  feelings  and  higher  purposes  than  they  would 
else  have  attained ;  if  to  have  shaken  the  dominion  of  supersti- 
tion, and  made  it  easier  for  men  to  think  freely,  and  freely  utter 
their  thought ;  if  to  have  produced  a  newspaper  more  interesting 
than  any  other  in  the  world  to  certain  classes  in  the  community ; 
—  if  all  these  things  had  sufficed  to  give  a  daily  paper  the  first 
position  in  the  journalism  of  a  country,  then  the  Tribune  would 
long  ago  have  attained  that  position ;  for  all  these  things,  and 
many  more,  the  Tribune  did.  But  they  do  not  suffice.  Such 
things  may  be  incidental  to  a  great  success :  they  cannot  cause  it. 
Great  journalism — journalism  pure  and  simple — -alone  can  give 
a  journal  the  first  place.  If  Mr.  Raymond  had  been  ten  years 
older,  and  had  founded  and  conducted  the  paper,  with  Mr.  Gree« 
ley  as  his  chief  writer  of  editorials,  —  that  is,  if  the  journalist 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          297 

uad  been  the  master  of  the  journal,  instead  of  the  writer,  the  pol- 
itician, and  the  philanthropist,  —  the  Tribune  might  have  won 
the  splendid  prize.  Mr.  Greeley  is  not  a  great  journalist.  He  has 
regarded  journalism  rather  as  a  disagreeable  necessity  of  his  vo- 
cation, and  uniformly  abandoned  the  care  of  it  to  others.  An  able 
man  generally  gets  what  he  ardently  seeks.  Mr.  Greeley  pro- 
duced just  such  a  paper  as  he  himself  would  have  liked  to  take, 
but  not  such  a  paper  as  the  public  of  the  island  of  Manhattan 
prefers.  He  regards  this  as  his  glory.  We  cannM  agree  with 
him,  because  his  course  of  management  left  the  field  to  the 
Herald,  the  suppression  of  which  was  required  by  the  interests  of 
civilization. 

The  Tribune  has  done  great  and  glorious  things  for  us.  Not 
free,  of  course,  from  the  errors  which  mark  all  things  human,  it 
has  been,  and  is,  a  civilizing  power  in  this  land.  We  hope  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  reading  it  every  day  for  the  rest  of  our  lives. 
One  thing  it  has  failed  to  do,  —  to  reduce  the  Herald  to  insignifi- 
cance by  surpassing  it  in  the  particulars  in  which  it  is  excellent. 
We  have  no  right  to  complain.  We  only  regret  that  the  paper 
representing  the  civilization  of  the  country  should  not  yet  have 
attained  the  position  which  would  have  given  it  the  greatest 
power. 

Mr.  Raymond,  also,  has  had  it  in  his  power  to  render  this  great 
service  to  the  civilization  and  credit  of  the  United  States.  The 
Daily  Times,  started  in  1852,  retarded  for  a  while  by  a  financial 
error,  has  made  such  progress  toward  the  goal  of  its  proprietors' 
ambition,  that  it  is  now  on  the  home  stretch,  only  a  length  or  two 
behind.  The  editor  of  this  paper  is  a  journalist ;  he  sees  clearly 
the  point  of  competition ;  he  knows  the  great  secret  of  his  trade. 
The  prize  within  his  reach  is  splendid.  The  position  of  chief 
journalist  gives  power  enough  to  satisfy  any  reasonable  ambition 
wealth  enough  to  glut  the  grossest  avarice,  and  opportunity  of 
doing  good  sufficient  for  the  most  public-spirited  citizen.  What  is 
there  in  political  life  equal  to  it?  We  have  no  right  to  remark 
upon  any  man's  choice  of  a  career  ;  but  this  we  may  say,  —  that 
the  man  who  wins  the  first  place  in  the  journalism  of  a  free  conn 
try  must  concentrate  all  his  powers  upon  that  one  work,  and 
13* 


J>98  JAMES  GORDON  BEXNETT 

BS  an  editor,  owe  no  allegiance  to  party.  He  must  stand  above 
all  parties,  and  serve  all  parties,  by  spreading  before  the  public 
that  full  and  exact  information  upon  which  sound  legislation  ia 
based. 

During  the  present  (1865-6)  session  of  Congress  we  have  had 
daily  illustration  of  this  truth.  The  great  question  has  been, 
What  is  the  condition  of  the  Southern  States  and  the  feeling  of 
the  Southern  people  ?  All  the  New  York  morning  papers  have 
expended  money  and  labor,  each  according  to  its  means  and  en- 
terprise, in  getting  information  from  the  South.  This  was  well. 
But  every  one  of  these  papers  has  had  some  party  or  personal 
bias,  which  has  given  it  a  powerful  interest  to  make  out  a  case. 
The  World  and  News  excluded  everything  which  tended  to  show 
the  South  dissatisfied  and  disloyal.  The  Tribune, .on  the  other 
hand,  diligently  sought  testimony  of  that  nature.  The  Times, 
also,  being  fully  committed  to  a  certain  theory  of  reconstruction, 
naturally  gave  prominence  to  every  fact  which  supported  that 
theory,  and  was  inclined  to  suppress  information  of  the  opposite 
tendency.  The  consequence  was,  that  an  inhabitant  of  the  city 
of  New  York  who  simply  desired  to  know  the  truth  was  com- 
pelled to  keep  an  eye  upon  four  or  five  papers,  lest  something 
material  should  escape  him.  This  is  pitiful.  This  is  utterly  be- 
neath the  journalism  of  1866.  The  final  pre-eminent  newspaper 
of  America  will  soar  far  above  such  needless  limitations  as  these, 
and  present  the  truth  in  all  its  aspects,  regardless  of  its  effects 
upon  theories,  parties,  factions,  and  Presidential  campaigns. 

Presidential  campaigns,  —  that  is  the  real  secret.  The  editors 
of  most  of  these  papers  have  selected  their  candidate  for  1868 ; 
and,  having  done  that,  can  no  more  help  conducting  their  journals 
with  a  view  to  the  success  of  that  candidate,  than  the  needle  of  a 
compass  can  help  pointing  awry  when  there  is  a  magnet  hidden 
in  the  binnacle.  Here,  again,  we  have  no  right  to  censure  or 
complain.  Yet  we  cannot  help  marvelling  at  the  hallucination 
which  can  induce  able  men  to  prefer  the  brief  and  illusory  honors 
of  political  station  to  the  substantial  and  lasting  power  within  the 
grasp  of  the  successful  journalist.  He,  if  any  one,  —  he  more 
than  any  one  else,  —  is  the  master  in  a  free  country.  Have  we 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          299 

not  seen  almost  every  man  who  has  held  or  run  for  the  Presiden- 
cy during  the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years  paying  assiduous  and  servile 
court,  directly  or  indirectly,  or  both,  to  the  editor  of  the  Herald  ? 
If  it  were  proper  to  relate  to  the  public  what  is  known  on  this 
subject  to  a  few  individuals,  the  public  would  be  exceedingly  as- 
tonished. And  yet  this  reality  of  power  an  editor  is  ready  to 
jeopard  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his  family  by  exposing  them  in 
Paris  !  Jeopard,  do  we  say  ?  He  has  done  more :  he  has  thrown 
it  away.  He  has  a  magnet  in  his  binnacle.  He  ha?,  for  the  time, 
sacrificed  what  it  cost  him  thirty  years  of  labor  and  audacity  to 
gain.  Strange  weakness  of  human  nature ! 

The  daily  press  of  the  United  States  has  prodigiously  improved 
in  every  respect  during  the  last  twenty  years.  To  the  best  of 
our  recollection,  the  description  given  of  it,  twenty-three  years 
ago,  by  Charles  Dickens,  in  his  American  Notes,  was  not  much 
exaggerated  ;  although  that  great  author  did  exaggerate  its  ef- 
fects upon  the  morals  of  the  country.  His  own  amusing  account 
of  the  rival  editors  in  Pickwick  might  have  instructed  him  on 
this  latter  point.  It  does  not  appear  that  the  people  of  Eatans- 
will  wore  seriously  injured  by  the  fierce  language  employed  in 
"  that  false  and  scurrilous  print,  the  Independent,"  and  in  "  that 
vile  and  slanderous  calumniator,  the  Gazette."  Mr.  Dickens, 
however,  was  too  little  conversant  with  our  politics  to  take  the 
atrocious  language  formerly  so  common  in  our  newspapers  "  in  a 
Pickwickian  sense  " ;  and  we  freely  confess  that  in  the  alarm- 
ing picture  which  he  drew  of  our  press  there  was  only  too  much 
truth. 

"  The  foul  growth  of  America,"  wrote  Mr.  Dickens, "  strikes  its  fibres 
deep  in  its  licentious  press. 

"  Schools  may  be  erected,  east,  west,  north,  and  south ;  pupils  be 
taught,  and  masters  reared,  by  scores  upon  scores  of  thousands ;  col- 
leges may  thrive,  churches  may  be  crammed,  temperance  may  be  dif- 
fused, and  advancing  knowledge  in  all  other  forms  walk  through  the 
land  with  giant  strides  ;  but  while  the  newspaper  press  of  America  ia 
in  or  near  its  present  abject  state,  high  moral  improvement  in  that 
country  is  hopeless.  Year  by  year  it  must  and  will  go  back  ;  year  by 
year  the  tone  of  public  feeling  must  sink  lower  down  ;  year  by  year 
the  Congress  and  the  Senate  must  become  of  less  account  before  all 


300  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

decent  men  ;  and,  year  by  year,  the  memory  of  the  great  fathers  of  the 
Revolution  must  be  outraged  more  and  more  in  the  bad  life  of  their 
degenerate  child. 

"  Among  the  herd  of  journals  which  are  published  in  the  States, 
there  are  some,  the  reader  scarcely  need  be  told,  of  character  and 
credit.  From  personal  intercourse  with  accomplished  gentlemen  con- 
nected with  publications  of  this  class  I  have  derived  both  pleasure  and 
profit.  But  the  name  of  these  is  Few,  and  of  the  others  Legion  ;  and 
the  influence  of  the  good  is  powerless  to  counteract  the  mortal  poison 
of  the  bad. 

"  Among  the  gentry  of  America,  among  the  well-informed  and 
moderate,  in  the  learned  professions,  at  the  bar  and  on  the  bench, 
there  is,  as  there  can  be,  but  one  opinion  in  reference  to  the  vicious 
character  of  these  infamous  journals.  It  is  sometimes  contended  — 
I  will  not  say  strangely,  for  it  is  natural  to  seek  excuses  for  such  a 
disgrace  —  that  their  influence  is  not  so  great  as  a  visitor  would  sup- 
pose. I  must  be  pardoned  for  saying  that  there  is  no  warrant  for  this 
plea,  and  that  every  fact  and  circumstance  tends  directly  to  the  oppo- 
site conclusion. 

"  When  any  man,  of  any  grade  of  desert  in  intellect  or  character, 
can  climb  to  any  public  distinction,  no  matter  what,  in  America,  with- 
out first  grovelling  down  upon  the  earth,  and  bending  the  knee  before 
this  monster  of  depravity  ;  when  any  private  excellence  is  safe  from 
its  attacks,  and  when  any  social  confidence  is  left  unbroken  by  it,  or 
any  tie  of  social  decency  and  honor  is  held  in  the  least  regard  ;  when 
any  man  in  that  free  country  has  freedom  of  opinion,  and  presumes  to 
think  for  himself,  and  speak  for  himself,  without  humble  reference  to  a 
censorship  which,  for  its  rampant  ignorance  and  base  dishonesty,  he 
utterly  loathes  and  despises  in  his  heart ;  when  those  who  most  acutely 
feel  its  infamy  and  the  reproach  it  casts  upon  the  nation,  and  who 
most  denounce  it  to  each  other,  dare  to  set  their  heels  upon  and  crush 
it  openly,  in  the  sight  of  all  men,  —  then  I  will  believe  that  its  influ- 
ence is  lessening,  and  men  are  returning  to  their  manly  senses.  But 
while  that  Press  has  its  evil  eye  in  every  house,  and  its  black  hand  in 
every  appointment  in  the  state,  from  a  President  to  a  postman,  — 
while,  with  ribald  slander  for  its  only  stock  in  trade,  it  is  the  stand- 
ard literature  of  an  enormous  class,  who  must  find  their  reading  in  a 
newspaper,  or  they  will  not  read  at  all,  —  so  long  must  its  odium  be 
upon  the  country  s  head,  and  so  long  must  the  evil  it  works  be  plainly 
visible  in  the  Republic. 
"  To  those  who  are  accustomed  to  the  leading  English  journals,  or  to 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          301 

the  respecta  Ji.e  journals  of  the  Continent  of  Europe,  to  those  who  are 
accustomed  to  anything  else  in  print  and  paper,  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble, without  an  amount  of  extract  for  which  I  have  neither  space  nor 
inclination,  to  convey  an  adequate  idea  of  this  frightful  engine  in 
America.  But  if  any  man  desire  confirmation  of  my  statement  on  this 
head,  let  him  repair  to  any  place  in  this  city  of  London  where  scat- 
tered numbers  of  these  publications  are  to  be  found,  and  there  let  him 
form  his  own  opinion." 

From  a  note  appended  to  this  passage,  we  infer  that  the  news- 
paper which  weighed  upon  the  author's  mind  when  he  wrote  it 
was  the  New  York  Herald.  The  direct  cause,  however,  of  the 
general  license  of  the  press  at  that  time,  was  not  the  Herald's 
bad  example,  but  Andrew  Jackson's  debauching  influence.  The 
same  man  who  found  the  government  pure,  and  left  it  corrupt, 
made  the  press  the  organ  of  his  own  malignant  passions  by  be- 
stowing high  office  upon  the  editors  who  lied  most  recklessly 
about  his  opponents.  In  1843  the  press  had  scarcely  begun  to 
recover  from  this  hateful  influence,  and  was*  still  the  merest  tool 
of  politicians.  The  Herald,  in  fact,  by  demonstrating  that  a 
newspaper  can  flourish  in  the  United  States  without  any  aid  from 
politicians,  has  brought  us  nearer  the  time  when  no  newspaper  of 
any  importance  will  be  subject  to  .party,  which  has  been  the  prin- 
cipal cause  of  the  indecencies  of  the  press. 

The  future  is  bright  before  the  journalists  of  America.  The 
close  of  the  war,  by  increasing  their  income  and  reducing  their  ex- 
penses, has  renewed  the  youth  of  several  of  our  leading  journals, 
and  given  them  a  better  opportunity  than  they  have  ever  had  be- 
fore. The  great  error  of  the  publishers  of  profitable  journals 
hitherto  has  been  the  wretched  compensation  paid  to  writers  and 
reporters.  To  this  hour  there  is  but  one  individual  connected 
with  the  daily  press  of  New  York,  not  a  proprietor,  -who  receives 
a  salary  sufficient  to  keep  a  tolerable  house  and  bring  up  a  family 
respectably  and  comfortably  ;  and  if  any  one  would  find  that  in- 
dividual, he  must  look  for  him.  alas  !  in  the  office  of  the  Herald. 
To  be  plainer :  decent  average  housekeeping  in  the  city  of  New 
York  now  costs  a  hundred  dollars  a  week  ;  and  there  is  but  one 
salary  of  that  amount  paid  in  New  York  to  a  journalist  who  owns 


302  JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT 

no  property  in  his  journal.  The  consequence  is,  that  there  is 
scarcely  an  individual  connected  with  a  daily  paper  who  is  not 
compelled  or  tempted  to  eke  out  his  ridiculous  salary  by  other 
writing,  to  the  injury  of  his  health  and  the  constant  deterioration 
of  his  work.  Every  morning  the  public  comes  fresh  and  eager 
to  the  newspaper :  fresh  and  eager  minds  should  alone  minister 
to  it.  No  work  done  on  this  earth  consumes  vitality  so  fast  as 
carefully  executed  composition,  and  consequently  one  of  the  main 
conditions  of  a  man's  writing  his  best  is  that  he  should  write  little 
and  rest  often.  A  good  writer,  moreover,  is  one  of  Nature's  pe- 
culiar and  very  rare  products.  There  is  a  mystery  about  the 
art  of  composition.  Who  shall  explain  to  us  why  Charles  Dick- 
ens can  write  about  a  three-legged  stool  in  such  a  manner  that 
the  whole  civilized  world  reads  with  pleasure  ;  while  another  man 
of  a  hundred  times  his  knowledge  and  five  times  his  quantity  of 
mind  cannot  write  on  any  subject  so  as  to  interest  anybody  ? 
The  laws  of  supply  and  demand  do  not  apply  to  this  rarity  ;  for 
one  man's  writing  cannot  be  compared  with  another's,  there  being 
no  medium  between  valuable  and  worthless.  How  many  over- 
worked, under-paid  men  have  we  known  in  New  York,  really 
gifted  with  this  inexplicable  knack  at  writing,  who,  well  com- 
manded and  justly  compensated,  lifted  high  and  dry  out  of  the 
slough  of  poor-devilism  in  which  their  powers  were  obscured  and 
impaired,  could  almost  have  made  the  fortune  of  a  newspaper ! 
Some  of  these  Reporters  of  Genius  are  mere  children  in  all  the 
arts  by  which  men  prosper.  .A  Journalist  of  Genius  would  know 
their  value,  understand  their  case,  take  care  of  their  interest,  se- 
cure their  devotion,  restrain  their  ardor,  and  turn  their  talent  to 
rich  account.  We  are  ashamed  to  say,  that  for  example  of  this 
kind  of  policy  we  should  have  to  repair  to  the  office  named  a  mo- 
ment since. 

This  subject,  however,  is  beginning  to  be  understood,  and  of 
late  there  has  been  some  advance  in  the  salaries  of  members  of 
the  press.  Just  as  fast  as  the  daily  press  advances  in  real  inde- 
pendence and  efficiency,  the  compensation  of  journalists  will  in- 
crease, until  a  great  reporter  will  receive  a  reward  in  some  slight 
degree  proportioned  to  the  rarity  of  the  species  and  to  the  great- 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          303 

ness  of  the  services  of  which  he  is  the  medium.  By  reporters, 
we  mean,  of  course,  the  entire  corps  of  news-givers,  from  the 
youth  who  relates  the  burning  of  a  stable,  to  the  philosopher  who 
chronicles  the  last  vagary  of  a  German  metaphysician.  These 
laborious  men  will  be  appreciated  in  due  time.  By  them  all  the 
great  hits  of  journalism  have  been  made,  and  the  whole  future  of 
journalism  is  theirs. 

So  difficult  is  the  reporter's  art,  that  we  can  call  to  mind  only 
two  series  of  triumphant  efforts  in  this  department,  —  Mr.  Rus- 
sell's letters  from  the  Crimea  to  the  London  Times,  and  N.  P. 
Willis's  "  Pencillings  by  the  Way,"  addressed  to  the  New  York 
Mirror.  Each  of  these  masters  chanced  to  have  a  subject  per- 
fectly adapted  to  his  taste  and  talents,  and  each  of  them  made  the 
most  of  his  opportunity.  Charles  Dickens  has  produced  a  few 
exquisite  reports.  Many  ignorant  and  dull  men  employed  on  the 
New  York  Herald  have  written  good  reports  because  they  were 
dull  and  ignorant.  In  fact,  there  are  two  kinds  of  good  report- 
ers,—  those  who  know  too  little,  and  those  who  know  too  much, 
to  wander  from  the  point  and  evolve  a  report  from  the  depths  of 
their  own  consciousness.  The  worst  possidle  reporter  is  one  who 
has  a  little  talent,  and  depends  upon  that  to  make  up  for  the 
meagreness  of  his  information.  The  best  reporter  is  he  whose 
sole  object  is  to  relate  his  event  exactly  as  it  occurred,  and  de- 
scribe his  scene  just  as  it  appeared  ;  and  this  kind  of  excellence 
is  attainable  by  an  honest  plodder,  and  by  a  man  of  great  and 
well-controlled  talent.  If  we  were  forming  a  corps  of  twenty-five 
reporters,  we  should  desire  to  have  five  of  them  men  of  great  and 
highly  trained  ability,  and  the  rest  indefatigable,  unimaginative, 
exact  short-hand  chroniclers,  caring  for  nothing  but  to  get  their 
fact  and  relate  it  in  the  plainest  English. 

There  is  one  custom,  a  relic  of  the  past,  still  in  vogue  in  the 
offices  of  daily  papers,  which  is  of  an  absurdity  truly  exquisite. 
It  is  the  practice  of  paying  by  the  column,  or,  in  other  words, 
paying  a  premium  for  verbosity,  and  imposing  a  fine  upon  con- 
ciseness. It  will  often  happen  that  information  which  cost  three 
days  to  procure  can  be  well  related  in  a  paragraph,  and  which,  if 
related  in  a  paragraph,  would  be  of  very  great  value  to  the  news- 


304  JAMES  GOEDON  BENNETT 

paper  printing  it.  But  if  the  reporter  should  compress  his  facts 
into  that  space,  he  would  receive  for  his  three  days'  labor  about 
what  he  expended  in  omnibus  fare.  Like  a  wise  man,  therefore, 
he  spreads  them  out  into  three  columns,  and  thus  receives  a  com- 
pensation upon  which  life  can  be  supported.  If  matter  must  be 
paid  for  by  the  column,  we  would  respectfully  suggest  the  follow- 
ing rates :  For  half  a  column,  or  less,  twenty  dollars ;  for  one 
column,  ten  dollars ;  for  two  columns,  five  dollars ;  for  three 
columns,  nothing ;  for  any  amount  beyond  three  columns,  no  in- 
sertion. 

To  conclude  with  a  brief  recapitulation :  — 

The  commodity  in  which  the  publishers  of  daily  newspapers 
deal  is  news,  i.  e.  information  respecting  recent  events  in  which 
the  public  take  an  interest,  or  in  which  an  interest  can  be 
excited. 

Newspapers,  therefore,  rank  according  to  their  excellence  as 
newspapers;  and  no  other  kind  of  excellence  can  make  up  fo~ 
any  deficiency  in  the  one  thing  for  which  they  exist. 

Consequently,  the  art  of  editorship  consists  in  forming,  hand- 
ling, and  inspiring  a  corps  of  reporters  ;  for  inevitably  that  news- 
paper becomes  the  chief  and  favorite  journal  which  has  the  best 
corps  of  reporters,  and  uses  them  best. 

Editorial  articles  have  their  importance.  They  can  be  a  pow- 
erful means  of  advancing  the  civilization  of  a  country,  and  of 
hastening  the  triumph  of  good  measures  and  good  men ;  and  upon 
the  use  an  editor  makes  of  his  opportunity  of  addressing  the  pub- 
lic in  this  way  depends  his  title  to  our  esteem  as  a  man  and  fel- 
low-citizen. But,  in  a  mere  business  point  of  view,  they  are  of 
inferior  importance.  The  best  editorials  cannot  make,  nor  the 
worst  editorials  mar,  the  fortune  of  a  paper.  Burke  and  Macau- 
lay  would  not  add  a  tenth  part  as  many  subscribers  to  a  daily 
paper  as  the  addition  to  its  corps  of  two  well-trained,  ably-com 
manded  reporters. 

It  is  not  law  which  ever  renders  the  press  free  and  independent. 
Nothing  is  free  or  independent  in  this  world  which  is  not  power- 
ful. Therefore,  the  editor  who  would  conquer  the  opportunity 
of  speaking  his  mind  freely,  must  do  it  by  making  his  paper  so 


AND  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.          305 

excellent  as  a  vehicle  of  news  that  the  public  will  buy  it  though 
it  is  a  daily  disgust  to  them. 

rihe  Herald  has  thriven' beyond  all  its  competitors,  because  its 
proprietor  comprehended  these  simple  but  fundamental  truths  of 
his  vocation,  and,  upon  the  whole,  has  surpassed  his  rivals  both 
in  the  getting  and  in  the  display  of  intelligence.  We  must  pro- 
nounce him  the  best  journalist  and  the  worst  editorialist  this  con- 
tinent has  ever  known ;  and  accordingly  his  paper  is  generally 
read  and  its  proprietor  universally  disapproved. 

And  finally,  this  bad,  good  paper  cannot  be  reduced  to  second- 
ary rank  except  by  being  outdone  in  pure  journalism.  The 
interests  of  civilization  and  the  honor  of  the  United  States  re- 
quire that  this  should  be  done.  There  are  three  papers  now  ex- 
isting —  the  Times,  the  Tribune,  and  the  World  —  which  ought 
to  do  it;  but  if  the  conductors  of  neither  of  these  able  and  spirited 
papers  choose  to  devote  themselves  absolutely  to  this  task,  then 
we  trust  that  soon  another  competitor  may  enter  the  field,  con- 
ducted by  a  journalist  proud  enough  of  his  profession  to  be  satis- 
fied with  its  honors.  There  were  days  last  winter  on  which  it 
eemed  as  if  the  whole  force  of  journalism  in  the  city  of  New 
York  was  expended  in  tingeing  and  perverting  intelligence  on 
the  greatest  of  all  the  topics  of  the  time.  We  have  read  numbers 
of  the  World  (which  has  talent  and  youthful  energy  enough  for 
a  splendid  career)  of  which  almost  the  entire  contents  —  corre- 
spondence, telegrams,  and  editorials  —  were  spoiled  for  all  useful 
purposes  by  the  determination  of  the  whole  corps  of  writers  to 
make  the  news  tell  in  favor  of  a  political  party.  We  can  truly 
aver,  that  journalism,  pure  and  simple, — journalism  for  its  own 
Bake, — journalism,  the  dispassionate  and  single-eyed  servant  of 
the  whole  public,  —  does  not  exist  in  New  York  during  a  session 
of  Congress.  It  ought  to  exist. 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 


CHARLES    GOODYEAR. 


THE  copy  before  us,  of  Mr.  Goodyear's  work  upon  "  Gum- 
Elastic  and  its  Varieties,"  presents  at  least  something  unique 
in  the  art  of  book-making.  It  is  self-illustrating ;  inasmuch  as, 
treating  of  India-rubber,  it  is  made  of  India-rubber.  An  unob- 
servant reader,  hcwever,  would  scarcely  suspect  the  fact  before 
reading  the  Preface,  for  the  India-rubber  covers  resemble  highly 
polished  ebony,  and  the  leaves  have  the  appearance  of  ancient 
paper  worn  soft,  thin,  and  dingy  by  numberless  perusals.  The 
volume  contains  six  hundred  and  twenty  pages ;  but  it  is  not 
as  thick  as  copies  of  the  same  work  printed  on  paper,  though  it  is 
a  little  heavier.  It  is  evident  that  the  substance  of  which  this  book 
is  composed  cannot  be  India-rubber  in  its  natural  state.  Those 
leaves,  thinner  than  paper,  can  be  stretched  only  by  a  strong  pull, 
and  resume  their  shape  perfectly  when  they  are  let  go.  There  is 
no  smell  of  India-rubber  about  them.  We  first  saw  this  book  in 
a  cold  room  in  January,  but  the  leaves  were  then  as  flexible  as 
old  paper ;  and  when,  since,  we  have  handled  it  in  warm  weather, 
they  had  grown  no  softer. 

Some  of  our  readers  may  have  heard  Daniel  Webster  relate 
the  story  of  the  India-rubber  cloak  and  hat  which  one  of  his 
New  York  friends  sent  him  at  Marshfield  in  the  infancy  of  the 
manufacture.  He  took  the  cloak  to  the  piazza  one  cold  morning, 
when  it  instantly  became  as  rigid  as  sheet-iron.  Finding  that  it 
stood  alone,  he  placed  the  hat  upon  it,  and  left  the  articles  stand- 
ing near  the  front  door.  Several  of  his  neighbors  who  passed, 
seeing  a  dark  and  portly  figure  there,  took  it  for  the  lord  of  the 
mansion,  and  gave  it  respectful  salutation.  The  same  articles 
w  ere  liable  to  an  objection  still  more  serious.  In  the  sun,  evon  in 


310  CHARLES   GOODYEAE. 

cool  weather,  they  became  sticky,  while  on  a  hot  day  they  would 
melt  entirely  away  to  the  consistency  of  molasses.  Every  one 
remembers  the  thick  and  ill-shaped  India-rubber  shoes  of  twenty 
years  ago,  which  had  to  be  thawed  out  under  the  stove  before 
they  could  be  put  on,  and  which,  if  left  under  the  stove  too  long, 
would  dissolve  into  gum  that  no  household  art  could  ever  harden 
again.  Some  decorous  gentlemen  among  us  can  also  remember 
that,  in  the  nocturnal  combats  of  their  college  days,  a  flinty  India- 
rubber  shoe,  in  cold  weather,  was  a  missive  weapon  of  a  highly 
effective  character. 

This  curious  volume,  therefore,  cannot  be  made  of  the  unman- 
ageable stuff  which  Daniel  Webster  set  up  at  his  front  door.  So 
much  is  evident  at  a  glance.  But  the  book  itself  tells  us  that  it 
can  be  subjected,  without  injury,  to  tests  more  severe  than  sum- 
mer's sun  and  winter's  cold.  It  can  be  soaked  six  months  in  a 
pail  of  water,  and  still  be  as  good  a  book  as  ever.  It  can  be 
boiled ;  it  can  be  baked  in  an  oven  hot  enough  to  cook  a  turkey  ; 
it  can  be  soaked  in  brine,  lye,  camphene,  turpentine,  or  oil ;  it  can 
be  dipped  into  oil  of  vitriol,  and  still  no  harm  done.  To  crown 
its  merits,  no  rat,  mouse,  worm,  or  moth  has  ever  shown  the 
slightest  inclination  to  make  acquaintance  with  it.  The  office  of 
a  Review  is  not  usually  provided  with  the  means  of  subjecting 
literature  to  such  critical  tests  as  lye,  vitriol,  boilers,  and  hot 
ovens.  But  we  have  seen  enough  elsewhere  of  the  ordeals  to 
which  India-rubber  is  now  subjected  to  believe  Mr.  Goodyear's 
statements.  Remote  posterity  will  enjoy  the  fruit  of  his  labors, 
unless  some  one  takes  particular  pains  to  destroy  this  book ;  for 
it  seems  that  time  itself  produces  no  effect  upon  the  India-rubber 
which  bears  the  familiar  stamp,  "  GOODYEAR'S  PATENT."  In 
the  dampest  corner  of  the  dampest  cellar,  no  mould  gathers  upon 
it,  no  decay  penetrates  it.  In  the  hottest  garret,  it  never  warps 
or  cracks. 

The  principal  object  of  the  work  is  to  relate  how  this  remark- 
able change  was  effected  in  the  nature  of  the  substance  of  which 
it  treats.  It  cost  more  than  two  millions  of  dollars  to  do  it.  It 
cost  Charles  Goodyear  eleven  most  laborious  and  painful  years. 
His  book  is  written  without  art  or  skill,  but  also  without  guile. 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  811 

He  was  evidently  a  laborious,  conscientious,  modest  man,  neither 
learned  nor  highly  gifted,  but  making  no  pretence  to  learning  or 
gifts,  doing  the  work  which  fell  to  him  with  all  his  might,  and 
with  a  perseverance  never  surpassed  in  all  the  history  of  inven- 
tion and  discovery.  Who  would  have  thought  to  find  a  romance 
in  the  history  of  India-rubber  ?  We  are  familiar  with  the  stories 
of  poor  and  friendless  men,  possessed  with  an  idea  and  pursuing 
their  object,  amid  obloquy,  neglect,  and  suffering,  to  the  final  tri- 
umph ;  of  which  final  triumph  other  men  reaped  the  substantial 
reward,  leaving  to  the  discoverer  the  barren  glory  of  his  achieve- 
ment, —  and  that  glory  obscured  by  detraction.  Columbus  is 
the  representative  man  of  that  illustrious  order.  We  trust  to  be 
able  to  show  that  Charles  Goodyear  is  entitled  to  a  place  in  it. 
Whether  we  consider  the  prodigious  and  unforeseen  importance 
of  his  discovery,  or  his  scarcely  paralleled  devotion  to  his  object, 
in  the  face  of  the  most  disheartening  obstacles,  we  feel  it  to  be 
due  to  his  memory,  to  his  descendants,  and  to  the  public,  that 
his  story  should  be  told.  Few  persons  will  ever  see  his  book, 
of  which  only  a  small  number  of  copies  were  printed  for  private 
circulation.  Still  fewer  will  be  at  the  pains  to  pick  out  the  ma- 
terial facts  from  the  confused  mass  of  matter  in  which  they  are 
hidden.  Happily  for  our  purpose,  no  one  now  has  an  interest 
to  call  his  merits  in  question.  He  rests  from  his  labors,  and 
the  patent,  which  was  the  glory  and  misery  of  his  life,  has 
expired. 

Our  great-grandfathers  knew  India-rubber  only  as  a  curiosity, 
and  our  grandfathers  only  as  a  means  of  erasing  pencil-marks. 
The  first  specimens  were  brought  to  Europe  in  1730 ;  and  as  late 
as  1770  it  was  still  so  scarce  an  article,  that  in  London  it  was 
only  to  be  found  in  one  shop,  where  a  piece  containing  half  a 
cubic  inch  was  sold  for  three  shillings.  Dr.  Priestley,  in  his 
work  on  perspective,  published  in  1770,  speaks  of  it  as  a  new 
article,  and  recommends  its  use  to  draughtsmen.  This  substance, 
however,  being  one  of  those  of  which  nature  has  provided  an  in- 
exhaustible supply,  greater  quantities  found  their  way  into  the 
commerce  of  the  world  ;  until,  in  1820,  it  was  a  drug  in  all  mar- 
kets, and  was  frequently  brought  as  ballast  merely.  About  this 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

time  .'t  began  to  be  subjected  to  experiments  with  a  view  to  ren« 
dering  it  available  in  the  arts.  It  was  found  useful  as  an  ingre- 
dient of  blacking  and  varnish.  Its  elasticity  was  turned  to  ae 
"•.ount  in  France  in  the  manufacture  of  suspenders  and  garters,  — 
threads  of  India-rubber  being  inserted  in  the  web.  In  England, 
Mackintosh  invented  his  still  celebrated  water-proof  coats,  which 
are  made  of  two  thin  cloths  with  a  paste  of  India-rubber  between 
them.  In  chemistry,  the  substance  was  used  to  some  extent,  and 
its  singular  properties  were  much  considered.  In  England  and 
France,  the  India-rubber  manufacture  had  attained  considerable 
importance  before  the  material  had  attracted  the  attention  of 
American  experimenters.  The  Europeans  succeeded  in  render- 
ing it  useful  because  they  did  not  attempt  too  much.  The  French 
cut  the  imported  sheets  of  gum  into  shreds,  without  ever  attempt- 
ing to  produce  the  sheets  themselves.  Mackintosh  exposed  no 
surface  of  India-rubber  to  the  air,  and  brought  no  surfaces  of  In- 
dia-rubber into  contact.  No  one  had  discovered  any  process  by 
which  India-rubber  once  dissolved  could  be  restored  to  its  original 
consistency.  Some  of  our  readers  may  have  attempted,  twenty 
years  ago,  to  fill  up  the  holes  in  the  sole  of  an  India-rubber  shoe. 
Nothing  was  easier  than  to  melt  a  piece  of  India-rubber  for  the 
purpose ;  but,  when  applied  to  the  shoe,  it  would  not  harden. 
There  was  the  grand  difficulty,  the  complete  removal  of  which 
cost  so  much  money  and  so  many  years. 

The  ruinous  failure  of  the  first  American  manufacturers  arose 
from  the  fact  that  they  began  their  costly  operations  in  ignorance 
of  the  existence  of  this  difficulty.  They  were  too  fast.  They 
proceeded  in  the  manner  of  the  inventor  of  the  caloric  engine, 
who  began  by  placing  one  in  a  ship  of  great  magnitude,  involving 
an  expenditure  which  ruined  the  owners. 

It  was  in  the  year  1820  that  a  pair  of  India-rubber  shoes  waa 
seen  for  the  first  time  in  the  United  States.  They  were  covered 
with  gilding,  and  resembled  in  shape  the  shoes  of  a  Chinaman. 
They  were  handed  about  in  Boston  only  as  a  curiosity.  Two  or 
three  years  after,  a  ship  from  South  America  brought  to  Boston 
five  hundred  pairs  of  shoes,  thick,  heavy,  and  ill  shaped,  which 
sold  so  readily  as  to  invite  further  importations.  The  business 


CHARLES   GOODYEAB.  313 

increased  until  the  annual  importation  reached  half  a  million 
pairs,  and  India-rubber  shoes  had  become  an  article  of  general 
use.  The  manner  in  which  these  shoes  were  made  by  the  natives 
of  South  America  was  frequently  described  in  the  newspapers, 
and  seemed  to  present  no  difficulty.  They  were  made  much  as 
farmers'  wives  made  candles.  The  sap  being  collected  from  the 
trees,  clay  lasts  were  dipped  into  the  liquid  twenty  or  thirty 
times,  each  layer  being  smoked  a  little.  The  shoes  were  then 
hung  up  to  harden  for  a  few  days ;  after  which  the  clay  was  re- 
moved, and  the  shoes  were  stored  for  some  months  to  harden 
them  still  more.  Nothing  was  more  natural  than  to  suppose  that 
Yankees  could  do  this  as  well  as  Indians,  if  not  far  better.  The 
raw  India-rubber  could  then  be  bought  in  Boston  for  five  cents  a 
pound,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  made  of  it  brought  from  three  to  five 
dollars.  Surely  here  was  a  promising  basis  for  a  new  branch  of 
manufacture  in  New  England.  It  happened  too,  in  1830,  that 
vast  quantities  of  the  raw  gum  reached  the  United  States.  It 
came  covered  with  hides,  in  masses,  of  which  no  use  could  be 
made  in  America ;  and  it  remained  unsold,  or  was  sent  to  Eu- 
rope. 

Patent-leather  suggested  the  first  American  attempt  to  turn 
India-rubber  to  account.  Mr.  E.  M.  Chaffee,  foreman  of  a  Bos- 
ton patent-leather  factory  conceived  the  idea,  in  1830,  of  spread- 
ing India-rubber  upon  cloth,  hoping  to  produce  an  article  which 
should  possess  the  good  qualities  of  patent-leather,  with  the  ad- 
ditional one  of  being  water-proof.  In  the  deepest  secrecy  he 
experimented  for  several  months.  By  dissolving  a  pound  of  In- 
dia rubber  in  three  quarts  of  spirits  of  turpentine,  and  adding 
lampblack  enough  to  give  it  the  desired  color,  he  produced  a  com- 
position which  he  supposed  would  perfectly  answer  the  purpose. 
He  invented  a  machine  for  spreading  it,  and  made  some  speci- 
mens of  cloth,  which  had  every  appearance  of  being  a  very  use 
ful  article.  The  surface,  after  being  dried  in  the  sun,  was  firm 
and  smooth ;  and  Mr.  Chaffee  supposed,  and  his  friends  agreed 
with  him,  that  he  had  made  an  invention  of  the  utmost  value. 
At  this  point  he  invited  a  few  of  the  solid  men  of  Roxbury  to 
look  pt  his  specimens  and  listen  to  his  statements.  He  convinced 
14 


314  CHARLES   GOODYEAB. 

them.  The  result  of  the  conference  was  the  Roxbury  ludia-rub- 
ber  Company,  incorporated  in  February,  1833,  with  a  'Capital  of 
thirty  thousand  dollars. 

The  progress  of  this  Company  was  amazing.  Within  a  year 
its  capital  was  increased  to  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  dollars. 
Before  another  year  had  expired,  this  was  increased  to  three  hun- 
dred thousand;  and  in  the  year  following,  to  four  hundred  thousand. 
The  Company  manufactured  the  cloth  invented  by  Mr.  Chaffee, 
and  many  articles  made  of  that  cloth,  such  as  coats,  caps,  wagon- 
curtains  and  coverings.  Shoes,  made  without  fibre,  were  soon  in- 
troduced. Nothing  could  be  better  than  the  appearance  of  these 
articles  when  they  were  new.  They  were  in  the  highest  favor, 
and  were  sold  more  rapidly  than  the  Company  could  manufacture 
them.  The  astonishing  prosperity  of  the  Roxbury  Company  had 
its  natural  effect  in  calling  into  existence  similar  establishments  in 
other  towns.  Manufactories  were  started  at  Boston,  Framing- 
ham,  Salem,  Lynn,  Chelsea,  Troy,  and  Staten  Island,  with  capi- 
tals ranging  from  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  half  a  million  ; 
and  all  of  them  appeared  to  prosper.  There  was  an  India-rub- 
ber mania  in  those  years  similar  to  that  of  petroleum  in  1864. 
Not  to  invest  in  India-rubber  stock  was  regarded  by  some  shrewd 
men  as  indicative  of  inferior  business  talents  and  general  dulness 
of  comprehension.  The  exterior  facts  were  certainly  well  calcu- 
lated to  lure  even  the  most  wary.  Here  was  a  material  worth 
only  a  few  cents  a  pound,  out  of  which  shoes  were  quickly  made, 
which  brought  two  dollars  a  pair  !  It  was  a  plain  case.  Besides, 
there  were  the  India-rubber  Companies,  all  working  to  their  ex- 
treme capacity,  and  selling  all  they  could  make. 

It  was  when  the  business  had  reached  this  flourishing  stage 
that  Charles  Goodyear,  a  bankrupt  hardware  merchant  of  Phila- 
delphia, first  had  his  attention  directed  to  the  material  upon  which 
it  was  founded.  In  1834,  being  in  New  York  on  business,  he 
chanced  to  observe  the  sign  of  the  Roxbury  Company,  which  then 
had  a  depot  in  that  city.  He  had  been  reading  in  the  news- 
papers, not  long  before,  descriptions  of  the  new  life  preservers 
made  of  India-rubber,  an  application  of  the  gum  that  was  much 
extolled.  Curiosity  induced  him  to  enter  the  store  to  examine 


CHARLES  GOODYEAR.  315 

the  life  prjservers.  He  bought  one  and  took  it  home  with  him. 
A  native  of  Connecticut,  he  possessed  iu  full  measure  the  Yankee 
propensity  to  look  at  a  new  contrivance,  first  with  a  view  to  un- 
derstand its  principle,  and  next  to  see  if  it  cannot  be  improved. 
Already  he  had  had  some  experience  both  of  the  difficulty  of  in- 
troducing an  improved  implement,  and  of  the  profit  to  be  derived 
from  its  introduction.  His  father,  the  head  of  the  firm  .of  A. 
Goodyear  and  Sons,  of  which  he  was  a  member,  was  the  first  to 
manufacture  hay-forks  of  spring  steel,  instead  of  the  heavy, 
wrought-iron  forks  made  by  the  village  blacksmith ;  and  Charles 
Goodyear  could  remember  the  time  when  his  father  reckoned  it 
a  happy  day  on  which  he  had  persuaded  a  farmer  to  accept  a  few 
of  the  new  forks  as  a  gift,  on  the  condition  of  giving  them  a  trial. 
But  it  was  also  very  fresh  in  his  recollection  that  those  same 
forks  had  made  their  way  to  almost  universal  use,  had  yielded 
large  profits  to  his  firm,  and  were  still  a  leading  article  of  its  trade, 
when,  in  1830,  the  failure  of  Southern  houses  had  compelled  it  to 
suspend.  He  was  aware,  too,  that,  if  anything  could  extricate 
the  house  of  A.  Goodyear  and  Sons  from  embarrassment,  it  was 
their  possession  of  superior  methods  of  manufacturing  and  their 
sale  of  articles  improved  by  their  own  ingenuity. 

Upon  examining  his  life-preserver,  an  improvement  in  the  in- 
flating apparatus  occurred  to  him.  When  he  was  next  in  New 
York  he  explained  his  improvement  to  the  agent  of  the  Roxbury 
Company,  and  offered  to  sell  it.  The  agent,  struck  with  the  in- 
genuity displayed  in  the  new  contrivance,  took  the  inventor  into 
his  confidence,  partly  by  way  of  explaining  why  the  Company 
could  not  then  buy  the  improved  tube,  but  principally  with  a  view 
to  enlist  the  aid  of  an  ingenious  mind  in  overcoming  a  difficulty 
that  threatened  the  Company  with  ruin.  He  told  him  that  the 
prosperity  of  the  India-rubber  Companies  in  the  United  States 
was  wholly  fallacious.  The  Roxbury  Company  had  manufac- 
tured vast  quantities  of  shoes  and  fabrics  in  the  cool  months  of 
1833  and  1834,  which  had  been  readily  sold  at  high  prices ;  but 
during  the  following  summer,  the  greater  part  of  them  had 
melted.  Twenty  thousand  dollars'  worth  had  been  returned,  re- 
duced to  the  consistency  of  common  gum,  and  emitting  an  odor 


816  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

so  offensive  that  they  had  been  obliged  to  bury  it.  New  ingredi- 
ents had  been  employed,  new  machinery  applied,  but  still  the  ar- 
ticles would  dissolve.  In  some  cases,  shoes  had  borne  the  heat  of 
one  summer,  and  melted  the  next.  The  wagon-covers  became 
sticky  in  the  sun,  and  rigid  in  the  cold.  The  directors  were  at 
their  wits'  end  ;  —  since  it  required  two  years  to  test  a  new  pro- 
cess, and  meanwhile  they  knew  not  whether  the  articles  made  by 
it  were  valuable  or  worthless.  If  they  stopped  manufacturing, 
that  was  certain  ruin.  If  they  went  on,  they  might  find  the  prod- 
uct of  a  whole  winter  dissolving  on  their  hands.  The  capital  of 
the  Company  was  already  so  far  exhausted,  that,  unless  the  true 
method  were  speedily  discovered,  it  would  be  compelled  to  wind 
up  its  affairs.  The  agent  urged  Mr.  Goodyear  not  to  waste  time 
upon  minor  improvements,  but  to  direct  all  his  efforts  to  finding 
out  the  secret  of  successfully  working  the  material  itself.  The 
Company  could  not  buy  his  improved  inflator  ;  but  let  him  learn 
how  to  make  an  India-rubber  that  would  stand  the  summer's  heat, 
and  there  was  scarcely  any  price  which  it  would  not  gladly  give 
for  the  secret. 

The  worst  apprehensions  of  the  directors  of  this  Company 
were  realized.  The  public  soon  became  tired  of  buying  India- 
rubber  shoes  that  could  only  be  saved  during  the  summer  by 
putting  them  into  a  refrigerator.  In  the  third  year  of  the  ma- 
nia, India-rubber  stock  began  to  decline,  and  Roxbury  itself 
finally  fell  to  two  dollars  and  a  half.  Before  the  close  of  1836, 
all  the  Companies  had  ceased  to  exist,  their  fall  involving  many 
hundreds  of  families  in  heavy  loss.  The  clumsy,  shapeless  shoes 
from  South  America  were  the  only  ones  which  the  people  would 
buy.  It  was  generally  supposed  that  the  secret  of  their  resisting 
heat  was  that  they  were  smoked  with  the  leaves  of  a  certain  tree, 
peculiar  to  South  America,  and  that  nothing  else  in  nature  would 
answer  the  purpose. 

The  two  millions  of  dollars  lost  by  these  Companies  had  one 
result  which  has  proved  to  be  worth  many  times  that  sum ;  it  led 
Charles  Goodyear  to  undertake  the  investigation  of  India-rubber. 
That  chance  conversation  with  the  agent  of  the  Roxbury  Com- 
pany fixed  his  destiny.  If  he  were  alive  to  read  these  lines,  he 


CHABLES  GOODYEAR.  317 

would,  however,  protest  against  the  use  of  such  a  word  as  chance 
iii  this  connection.  He  really  appears  to  have  felt  himself  "called" 
to  study  India-ruhber.  He  says  himself:  — 

"  From  the  time  that  his  attention  was  first  given  to  the  subject,  a 
strong  and  abiding  impression  was  made  upon  his  mind,  that  an  object 
so  desirable  and  important,  and  so  necessary  to  man's  comfort,  as  the 
making  of  gum-elastic  available  to  his  use,  was  most  certainly  placed 
within  his  reach.  Having  this  presentiment,  of  which  he  could  not  di- 
vest himself  under  the  most  trying  adversity,  he  was  stimulated  with 
the  hope  of  ultimately  attaining  this  object. 

"  Beyond  this  he  would  refer  the  whole  to  the  great  Creator,  who 
directs  the  operations  of  mind  to  the  development  of  the  properties  of 
matter,  in  his  own  way,  at  the  time  when  they  are  specially  needed, 

influencing  some  mind  for  every  work  or  calling Were  he  to 

refrain  from  expressing  his  views  thus  briefly,  he  would  ever  feel  that 
he  had  done  violence  to  his  8«ntiinents." 

This  is  modestly  said,  but  Ms  friends  assure  us  that  he  felt  it 
earnestly  and  habitually.  It  was,  indeed,  this  steadfast  conviction 
of  the  possibility  of  attaining  his  object,  and  his  religious  devotion 
to  it,  that  constituted  his  capital  in  his  new  business.  He  had 
little  knowledge  of  chemistry,  and  an  aversion  to  complicated  cal- 
culations. He  was  a  ruined  man  ;  for,  after  a  long  struggle  with 
misfortune,  the  firm  of  A.  Goodyear  and  Sons  had  surrendered 
their  all  to  their  creditors,  and  still  owed  thirty  thousand  dollars. 
He  had  a  family,  and  his  health  was  not  robust.  Upon  returning 
home  after  conversing  with  the  agent  of  the  Roxbury  Company, 
he  was  arrested  for  debt,  and  compelled  to  reside  within  the  prison 
limits.  He  melted  his  first  pound  of  India-rubber  while  he  was 
living  within  those  limits,  and  struggling  to  keep  out  of  the  jail 
itself.  Thus  he  began  his  experiments  in  circumstances  as  little 
favorable  as  can  be  imagined.  There  were  only  two  things  in 
his  favor.  One  was  his  conviction  that  India-rubber  could  be 
subjugated,  and  that  he  was  the  man  destined  to  subjugate  it. 
;The  other  was,  that,  India-rubber  having  fallen  to  its  old  price, 
h*  could  continue  his  labors  as  long  as  he  could  raise  five  cents 
and  procure  access  to  a  fire.  The  very  odium  in  which  business- 
men held  India-rubber,  though  it  long  retarded  nis  final  triumph, 
placed  an  abundance  of  the  native  gum  within  the  means  even  of 


318  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

an  inmate  of  the  debtor's  prison,  in  which  he  often  was  during 
the  whole  period  of  his  experimenting.  He  was  seldom  out  of 
jail  a  whole  year  from  1835  to  1841,  and  never  out  of  danger  of 
arrest. 

In  a  small  house  in  Philadelphia,  in  the  winter  of  1834  —  35, 
he  began  his  investigations.  He  melted  his  gum  by  the  domestic 
fire,  kneaded  it  with  his  own  hands,  spread  it  upon  a  marble  slab, 
and  rolled  it  with  a  rolling-pin.  A  prospect  of  success  flattered 
him  from  the  first  and  lured  him  on.  He  was  soon  able  to  pro- 
duce sheets  of  India-rubber  which  appeared  as  firm  as  those  im- 
ported, and  which  tempted  a  friend  to  advance  him  a  sum  of 
money  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  manufacture  several  hundred 
pairs  of  shoes.  He  succeeded  in  embossing  his  shoes  in  vari- 
ous patterns,  which  gave  them  a  novel  and  elegant  appearance. 
Mindful,  however,  of  the  disasters  of  the  Roxbury  Company,  he 
had  the  prudence  to  store  his  shoes  until  the  summer.  The  hot 
days  of  June  reduced  them  all  to  soft  and  stinking  paste.  His 
friend  was  discouraged,  and  refused  him  further  aid.  For  his 
own  part,  such  experiences  as  this,  though  they  dashed  his  spirits 
for  a  while,  stimulated  him  to  new  efforts. 

It  now  occurred  to  him,  that  perhaps  it  was  the  turpentine 
used  in  dissolving  the  gum,  or  the  lampblack  employed  to  color 
it,  that  spoiled  his  product.  He  esteemed  it  a  rare  piece  of  luck 
to  procure  some  barrels  of  the  sap  not  smoked,  and  still  liquid. 
On  going  to  the  shed  where  the  precious  sap  was  deposited,  he 
was  accosted  by  an  Irishman  in  his  employ,  who,  in  high  glee, 
informed  him  that  he  had  discovered  the  secret,  pointing  to  his 
overalls,  which  he  had  dipped  into  the  sap,  and  which  were  nicely 
coated  with  firm  India-rubber.  For  a  moment  he  thought  that 
Jerry  might  have  blundered  into  the  secret.  The  man,  however, 
eat  down  on  a  barrel  near  the  fire,  and,  on  attempting  to  rise, 
found  himself  glued  to  his  seat  and  his  legs  stuck  together.  He 
had  to  be  cut  out  of  his  overalls.  The  master  proceeded  to  ex- 
periment with  the  sap,  but  soon  discovered  that  the  handsome 
white  cloth  made  of  it  bore  the  heat  no  better  than  that  which 
was  produced  in  the  usual  manner. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  inventors  seldom  derive  direct  uid  from 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  319 

the  science  of  their  day.  Jame8  Watt  modestly  ascribes  to 
Professor  Black  part  of  the  glory  of  his  improvements  in  the 
steam-engine ;  but  it  seems  plain  from  his  own  narrative,  that 
he  made  his  great  invention  of  the  condenser  without  any  assist- 
ance. Professor  Black  assisted  .to  instruct  and  form  him ;  but 
the  flash  of  genius,  which  made  the  steam-engine  what  we  now 
see  it,  was  wholly  his  own.  The  science  of  Glasgow  was  dili- 
gently questioned  by  him  upon  the  defects  of  the  old  engine,  but 
it  gave  him  no  hint  of  the  remedy.  It  was  James  Watt,  mathe- 
matical-instrument maker,  earning  fourteen  shillings  a  week,  who 
brooded  over  his  h'ttle  model  until  the  conception  of  the  condenser 
burst  upon  him,  as  he  was  taking  his  Sunday  afternoon  stroll  on 
Glasgow  Green.  Goodyear  had  a  similar  experience.  Phila- 
delphia has  always  been  noted  for  its  chemists  and  its  chemical 
works,  and  that  city  still  supplies  the  greater  part  of  the  country 
with  manufactured  drugs  and  chemists'  materials.  Nevertheless, 
though  Goodyear  explained  his  difficulties  to  professors,  physi- 
cians, and  chemists,  none  of  them  could  give  him  valuable  infor- 
mation; none  suggested  an  experiment  that  produced  a  useful 
result.  We  know  not,  indeed,  whether  science  has  ever  explained 
his  final  success. 

Satisfied  that  nothing  could  be  done  with  India-rubber  pure 
and  simple,  he  concluded  that  a  compound  of  some  substance 
with  India-rubber  could  alone  render  the  gum  available.  He 
•was  correct  in  this  conjecture,  but  it  remained  to  be  discovered 
whether  there  was  such  a  substance  in  nature.  He  tried  every- 
thing he  could  think  of.  For  a  short  time  he  was  elated  with 
the  result  of  his  experiments  with  magnesia,  mixing  half  a  pound 
of  magnesia  with  a  pound  of  gum.  This  compound  had  the 
advantage  of  being  whiter  than  the  pure  sap.  It  was  so  firm 
that  he  used  it  as  leather  in  the  binding  of  a  book.  In  a  few 
weeks,  however,  he  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  his  elegant 
white  book-covers  fermenting  and  softening.  Afterwards,  they 
grew  as  hard  and  brittle  as  shell,  and  so  they  remain  to  this  day. 

By  this  time,  the  patience  of  his  friends  and  his  own  h'ttle  fund 
of  money  were  both  exhausted ;  and,  one  by  one,  the  relics  of 
his  former  prosperity,  even  to  his  wife's  trinkets,  found  their  way 


820  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

to  the  pawnbroker.  He  was  a  sanguine  man,  as  inventors  need 
to  be,  always  feeling  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  succeeding. 
The  very  confidence  with  which  he  announced  a  new  conception 
served  at  length  to  close  all  ears  to  his  solicitations.  In  the  second 
year  of  his  investigation  he  removed  his  family  to  the  country, 
and  went  to  New  York,  in  quest  of  some  one  who  had  still  a 
little  faith  in  India-rubber.  His  credit  was  then  at  so  low  an  ebb 
that  he  was  obliged  to  deposit  with  the  landlord  a  quantity  of ' 
linen,  spun  by  his  excellent  wife.  It  was  never  redeemed.  It 
was  sold  at  auction  to  pay  the  first  quarter's  rent ;  and  his  furni- 
ture also  would  have  been  seieed,  but  that  he  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution to  sell  it  himself  in  Philadelphia,  and  had  placed  in  his 
cottage  articles  of  too  little  value  to  tempt  the  hardest  creditor. 

In  New  York,  —  the  first  resort  of  the  enterprising  and  the 
last  refuge  of  the  unfortunate,  —  he  found  two  old  friends ;  one 
of  whom  lent  him  a  room  in  Gold  Street  for  a  laboratory,  and 
the  other,  a  druggist,  supplied  him  with  materials  on  credit. 
Again  his  hopes  were  flattered  by  an  apparent  success.  By  boil- 
ing his  compound  of  gum  and  magnesia  in  quicklime  and  water, 
an  article  was  produced  which  seemed  to  be  all  that  he  could 
desire.  Some  sheets  of  India-rubber  made  by  this  process  drew 
a  medal  at  the  fair  of  the  American  Institute  in  1835,  and  were 
much  commended  in  the  newspapers.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
smoothness  and  firmness  of  the  surface  of  these  sheets ;  nor  have 
they  to  this  day  been  surpassed  in* these  particulars.  He  obtained 
a  patent  for  the  process,  manufactured  a  considerable  quantity, 
sold  his  product  readily,  and  thought  his  difficulties  were  at  an 
end.  In  a  few  weeks  his  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground.  He 
found  that  a  drop  of  weak  acid,  such  as  apple-juice  or  vinegar 
and  water,  instantly  annihilated  the  effect  of  the  lime,  and  made 
the  beautiful  surface  of  his  cloth  sticky. 

Undaunted,  he  next  tried  the  experiment  of  mixing  quicklime 
with  pure  gum.  He  tells  us  that,  at  this  time,  he  used  to  prepare 
a  gallon  jug  of  quicklime  at  his  room  in  Gold  Street,  and  carry  it 
on  his  shoulder  to  Greenwich  Village,  distant  three  miles,  where 
he  had  access  to  horse-power  for  working  his  compound.  This  ex- 
periment, too,  was  a  failure.  The  lime  in  a  short  time  appeared 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  321 

u>  consume  the  gum  with  which  it  was  mixed,  leaving  a  substance 
that  crumbled  to  pieces. 

Accident  suggested  his  next  process,  which,  though  he  knew  it 
not,  was  a  step  toward  his  final  success.  Except  his  almost  un- 
paralleled perseverance,  the  most  marked  trait  in  the  character  of 
this  singular  man  was  his  love  for  beautiful  forms  and  colors.  An 
incongruous  garment  or  decoration  upon  a  member  of  his  family, 
or  anything  tawdry  or  ill-arranged  in  a  room,  gave  him  positive 
distress.  Accordingly,  we  always  find  him  endeavoring  to  deco- 
rate his  India-rubber  fabrics.  It  was  in  bronzing  the  surface  of 
some  India-rubber  drapery  that  thfe  accident  happened  to  which 
we  have  referred.  Desiring  to  remove  the  bronze  from  a  piece 
of  the  drapery,  he  applied  aquafortis  for  the  purpose,  which  did 
indeed  have  the  effect  desired,  but  it  also  discolored  the  fabric 
and  appeared  to  spoil  it.  He  threw  away  the  piece  as  useless. 
Several  days  after,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  not  sufficiently 
examined  the  effect  of  the  aquafortis,  and,  hurrying  to  his  room, 
he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  it  again.  A  remarkable  change 
appeared  to  have  been  made  in  the  India-rubber.  He  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  aware  that  aquafortis  is  two  fifths  sulphuric  acid. 
Still  less  did  he  ever  suspect  that  the  surface  of  his  drapery  had 
really  been  "  vulcanized."  All  he  knew  was,  that  India-rubber 
cloth  "  cured,"  as  he  termed  it,  by  aquafortis,  was  incomparably 
superior  to  any  previously  made,  and  bore  a  degree  of  heat  that 
rendered  it  available  for  many  Valuable  purposes. 

He  was  again  a  happy  man.  A  partner,  with  ample  capital, 
joined  him.  He  went  to  Washington  and  patented  his  process. 
He  showed  his  specimens  to  President  Jackson,  who  expressed  in 
writing  his  approval  of  them.  Returning  to  New  York,  he  pre- 
pared to  manufacture  on  a  great  scale,  hired  the  abandoned  India- 
rubber  works  on  Staten  Island,  and  engaged  a  store  in  Broadway 
for  the  sale  of  his  fabrics.  In  the  midst  of  these  grand  prepara- 
tions, his  zeal  in  experimenting  almost  cost  him  his  life.  Having 
generated  a  large  quantity  of  poisonous  gas  in  his  close  room,  he 
was  so  nearly  suffocated  that  it  was  six  weeks  before  he  recov- 
ered his  health.  Before  he  had  begun  to  produce  his  fabrics  in 
any  considerable  quantity,  the  commercial  storm  of  1836  swept 
14*  u 


322  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

away  the  entire  property  of  his  partner,  which  put  a  complete 
stop  to  the  operations  in  India-rubber,  and  reduced  poor  Good- 
year to  his  normal  condition  of  beggary.  Beggary  it  literally 
was ;  for  he  was  absolutely  dependent  upon  others  for  the  means 
of  sustaining  life.  He  mentions  that,  soon  after  this  crushing 
blow,  his  family  having  previously  joined  him  in  New  York,  he 
awoke  one  morning  to  discover  that  he  had  neither  an  atom  of 
food  for  them,  nor  a  cent  to  buy  it  with.  Putting  in  his  pocket 
an  article  that  he  supposed  a  pawnbroker  would  value,  he  set  out 
in  the  hope  of  procuring  enough  money  to  sustain  them  for  one 
day.  Before  reaching  the  sign,  so  familiar  to  him,  of  the  three 
Golden  Balls,  he  met  a  terrible  being  to  a  man  in  his  situation, — 
a  creditor !  Hungry  and  dejected,  he  prepared  his  mind  for  a 
torrent  of  bitter  reproaches ;  for  this  gentleman  was  one  whose 
patience  he  felt  he  had  abused.  What  was  his  relief  when  his 
creditor  accosted  him  gayly  with,  "  Well,  Mr.  Goodyear,  what 
can  I  do  for  you  to-day  ? "  His  first  thought  was,  that  an  insult 
was  intended,  so  preposterous  did  it  seem  that  this  man  could 
really  desire  to  aid  him  further.  Satisfied  that  the  offer  was  well 
meant,  he  told  his  friend  that  he  had  come  out  that  morning  in 
search  of  food  for  his  family,  and  that  a  loan  of  fifteen  dollars 
would  greatly  oblige  him.  The  money  was  instantly  produced, 
which  enabled  him  to  postpone  his  visit  to  the  pawnbroker  for 
several  days.  The  pawnbroker  was  still,  however,  his  frequent 
resource  all  that  year,  until  the  few  remains  of  his  late  brief  pros- 
perity had  all  disappeared. 

But  he  never  for  a  moment  let  go  his  hold  upon  India-rubber. 
A  timely  loan  of  a  hundred  dollars  from  an  old  friend  enabled 
him  to  remove  his  family  to  Staten  Island,  near  the  abandoned 
India-rubber  factory.  Having  free  access  to  the  works,  he  and 
his  wife  contrived  to  manufacture  a  few  articles  of  his  improved 
cloth,  and  to  sell  enough  to  provide  daily  bread.  His  great  ob- 
ject there  was  to  induce  the  directors  of  the  suspended  Company 
to  recommence  operations  upon  his  new  process.  But  so  com- 
pletely sickened  were  they  of  the  very  name  of  a  material  which 
had  involved  them  in  so  much  loss  and  discredit,  that  during  the 
six  months  of  his  residence  on  the  Island  he  never  succ.ee ded  in 


CHARLES  GOODYEAR.  323 

persuading  one  man  to  do  so  much  as  come  to  the  factory  and 
look  at  his  specimens.  There  were  thousands  of  dollars'  worth 
of  machinery  there,  but  not  a  single  shareholder  cared  even  to 
know  the  condition  of  the  property.  This  was  the  more  remark- 
able, since  he  was  unusually  endowed  by  nature  with  the  power 
to  inspire  other  men  with  his  own  confidence.  The  magnates  of 
Staten  Island,  however,  involved  as  they  were  in  the  general 
shipwreck  of  property  and  credit,  were  inexorably  deaf  to  his 
eloquence. 

As  he  had  formerly  exhausted  Philadelphia,  so  now  New 
York  seemed  exhausted.  He  became  even  an  object  of  ridi- 
cule. He  was  regarded  as  an  India-rubber  monomaniac.  One 
of  his  New  York  friends  having  been  asked  how  Mr.  Goodyear 
could  be  recognized  in  the  street,  replied :  "  If  you  see  a  man 
with  an  India-rubber  coat  on,  India-rubber  shoes,  an  India- 
rubber  cap,  and  in  his  pocket  an  India-rubber  purse,  with  not  a 
cent  in  it,  that  is  he."  He  was  in  the  habit  then  of  wearing  his 
material  in  every  form,  with  the  twofold  view  of  testing  and  ad- 
vertising it. 

In  September,  1836,  aided  again  by  a  small  loan,  he  packed  a 
few  of  his  best  specimens  in  his  carpet-bag,  and  set  out  alone  for 
the  cradle  of  the  India-rubber  manufacture,  —  Roxbury.  The 
ruin  of  the  great  Company  there  was  then  complete,  and  the 
factory  was  abandoned.  All  that  part  of  Massachusetts  was 
suffering  from  the  total  depreciation  of  the  India-rubber  stocks. 
There  were  still,  however,  two  or  three  persons  who  could  not 
quite  give  up  India-rubber.  Mr.  Chaffee,  the  originator  of  the 
manufacture  in  America,  welcomed  warmly  a  brother  experi- 
menter, admired  his  specimens,  encouraged  him  to  persevere, 
procured  him  friends,  and,  what  was  more  important,  gave  him 
the  use  of  the  enormous  machinery  standing  idle  in  the  factory. 
A  brief,  delusive  prosperity  again  relieved  the  monotony  of 
misfortune.  By  his  new  process,  he  made  shoes,  piano-covers, 
and  carriage-cloths,  so  superior  to  any  previously  produced  in  the 
United  States  as  to  cause  a  temporary  revival  of  the  businew, 
ivhich  enabled  him  to  sell  rights  to  manufacture  under  his 
patents.  His  profits  in  a  single  year  amounted  to  four  or  five 


824  CHARLES  GOODYEAR. 

thousand  dollars.  Again  he  had  his  family  around  him,  and  felt  a 
boundless  confidence  in  the  future. 

An  event  upon  which  he  had  depended  for  the  completeness 
of  his  triumph  plunged  him  again  into  ruin.  He  received  an 
order  from  the  government  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  India-rubber 
mail-bags.  Having  perfect  confidence  in  his  ability  to  execute 
this  order,  he  gave  the  greatest  possible  publicity  to  it.  All  the 
world  should  now  see  that  Goodyear*s  India-rubber  was  all  that 
Goodyear  had  represented  it.  The  bags  were  finished ;  and 
beautiful  bags  they  were,  —  smooth,  firm,  highly  polished,  well- 
shaped,  and  indubitably  water-proof.  He  had  them  hung  up  all 
round  the  factory,  and  invited  every  one  to  come  and  inspect 
them.  They  were  universally  admired,  and  the  maker  was 
congratulated  upon  his  success.  It  was  in  the  summer  that 
these  fatal  bags  were  finished.  Having  occasion  to  be  absent 
for  a  month,  he  left  them  hanging  in  the  factory.  Judge  of  his 
consternation  when,  on  his  return,  he  found  them  softening, 
fermenting,  and  dropping  off  their  handles.  The  aquafortis  did 
indeed  "  cure  "  the  surface  of  his  India-rubber,  but  only  the  sur- 
face. Very  thin  cloth  made  by  this  process  was  a  useful  and 
somewhat  durable  article ;  but  for  any  other  purpose,  it  was 
valueless.  The  public  and  signal  failure  of  the  mail-bags, 
together  with  the  imperfection  of  all  his  products  except  his 
thinnest  cloth,  suddenly  and  totally  destroyed  his  rising  busi- 
ness. Everything  he  possessed  that  was  salable  was  sold  at 
auction  to  pay  his  debts.  He  was  again  penniless  and  destitute, 
with  an  increased  family  and  an  aged  father  dependent  upon 
him. 

His  friends,  his  brothers,  and  his  wife  now  joined  in  dissuad- 
ing him  from  further  experiments.  Were  not  four  years  of 
such  vicissitude  enough?  Who  had  ever  touched  India-rubber 
without  loss?  Could  he  hope  to  succeed,  when  so  many  able 
and  enterprising  men  had  failed  ?  Had  he  a  right  to  keep  his 
family  in  a  condition  so  humiliating  and  painful  ?  He  had 
succeeded  in  the  hardware  business ;  why  not  return  to  it  ? 
There  were  those  who  would  join  him  in  any  rational  under- 
taking; but  how  could  he  expect  that  any  one  would  be  will- 


CHARLES   GOODYEAB.  325 

iLg  to  throw  more  money  into  a  bottomless  pit  that  had  already 
ingulfed  millions  without  result?  These  arguments  he  could 
not  answer,  and  we  cannot ;  the  friends  of  all  the  great  inventors 
have  had  occasion  to  use  the  same.  It  seemed  highly  absurd  to 
the  friends  of  Fitch,  Watt,  Fulton,  Wedgwood,  Whitney,  Ark- 
wright,  that  they  should  forsake  the  beaten  track  of  business  to 
pursue  a  path  that  led  through  the  wilderness  to  nothing  but 
wilderness.  Not  one  of  these  men,  perhaps,  could  have  made  a 
reasonable  reply  to  the  remonstrances  of  their  friends.  They 
only  felt,  as  poor  Goodyear  felt,  that  the  steep  and  thorny  path 
which  they  were  treading  was  the  path  they  must  pursue.  A 
power  of  which  they  could  give  no  satisfactory  account  urged 
them  on.  And  when  we  look  closely  into  the  lives  of  such  men, 
we  observe  that,  in  their  dark  days,  some  trifling  circumstance 
was  always  occurring  that  set  them  upon  new  inquiries  and  gave 
them  new  hopes.  It  might  be  an  ignis  fatuus  that  led  them 
farther  astray,  or  it  might  be  genuine  light  which  brought  then? 
into  the  true  path. 

Goodyear  might  have  yielded  to  his  friends  on  this  occasion,  for 
he  was  an  affectionate  man,  devoted  to  his  family,  had  not  one  of 
those  trifling  events  occurred  which  inflamed  his  curiosity  anew. 
During  his  late  transient  prosperity,  he  had  employed  a  man,  Na- 
thaniel Hayward  by  name,  who  had  been  foreman  of  one  of  the 
extinct  India-rubber  companies.  He  found  him  in  charge  of  the 
abandoned  factory,  and  still  making  a  few  articles  on  his  own  ac- 
count by  a  new  process.  To  harden  his  India-rubber,  he  put  a 
very  small  quantity  of  sulphur  into  it,  or  sprinkled  sulphur  upon 
the  surface  and  dried  it  in  the  sun.  Mr.  Goodyear  was  surprised 
to  observe  that  this  process  seemed  to  produce  the  same  effect  as 
the  application  of  aquafortis.  It  does  not  appear  to  have  occurred 
to  him  that  Hayward's  process  and  his  own  were  essentially  the 
same.  A  chemical  dictionary  would  have  informed  him  that  sul- 
phuric acid  enters  largely  into  the  composition  of  aquafortis,  from 
which  he  might  have  inferred  that  the  only  difference  between 
the  two  methods  was,  that  Hayward  employed  the  sun,  and  Good- 
year nitric  acid,  to  give  the  sulphur  effect.  Hayward's  goods, 
however,  were  liable  to  a  serious  objection :  the  sune!!  of  the  su'i 


326  CHAELES   GOODYEAE. 

phur,  in  war  m  weather,  was  intolerable.  Hay  ward,  it  appears, 
was  a  very  illiterate  man ;  and  the  only  account  he  could  give  of 
his  invention  was,  that  it  was  revealed  to  him  in  a  dream.  His 
process  was  of  so  little  use  to  him,  that  Goodyear  bought  his  pat- 
ent for  a  small  sum,  and  gave  him  employment  at  monthly  wages 
until  the  mail-bag  disaster  deprived  him  of  the  means  of  doing  so. 

In  combining  sulphur  with  India-rubber,  Goodyear  had  ap- 
proached so  near  his  final  success  that  one  step  more  brought  him 
to  it.  He  was  certain  that  he  was  very  close  to  the  secret.  He 
saw  that  sulphur  had  a  mysteriou8  power  over  India-rubber  when 
a  union  could  be  effected  between  the  two  substances.  True, 
there  was  an  infinitesimal  quantity  of  sulphnr  in  his  mail-bags, 
and  they  had  melted  in  the  shade ;  but  the  surface  of  his  cloth, 
powdered  with  the  sulphur  and  dried  in  the  sun,  bore  the  sun's 
heat.  Here  was  a  mystery.  The  problem  was,  how  to  produce 
in  a  mass  of  India-rubber  the  change  effected  on  the  surface 
by  sulphur  and  sun  ?  He  made  numberless  experiments.  He 
mixed  with  the  gum  large  quantities  of  sulphur,  and  small  quanti- 
ties. He  exposed  his  compound  to  the  sun,  and  held  it  near  a 
fire.  He  felt  that  he  had  the  secret  in  his  hands ;  but  for  many 
weary  months  it  eluded  him. 

And,  after  all,  it  was  an  accident  that  revealed  it ;  but  an  acci- 
dent that  no  man  in  the  world  but  Charles  Goodyear  could  have 
interpreted,  nor  he,  but  for  his  five  years'  previous  investigation. 
4t  Woburn  one  day,  in  the  spring  of  1839,  he  was  standing  with 
his  brother  and  several  other  persons  near  a  very  hot  stove.  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  mass  of  his  compound  of  sulphur  and  gum, 
upon  which  he  was  expatiating  in  his  usual  vehement  manner,  — 
the  company  exhibiting  the  indifference  to  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed. In  the  crisis  of  his  argument  he  made  a  violent  gesture, 
which  brought  the  mass  in  contact  with  the  stove,  which  was  hot 
enough  to  melt  India-rubber  instantly ;  upon  looking  at  it  a 
moment  after,  he  perceived  that  his  compound  had  not  melted  in 
the  least  degree !  It  had  charred  as  leather  chars,  but  no  part  of 
Ihe  surface  had  dissolved.  There  was  not  a  sticky  place  upon  ft. 
To  say  that  he  was  astonished  at  this  would  but  faintly  express  his 
ecstasy  of  amazement  The  result  was  absolutely  new  to  all  ex 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  327 

perience,  —  India-rubber  not  melting  in  contact  with  red-hot 
iron !  A  man  must  have  been  five  years  absorbed  in  the  pursuit 
of  an  object  to  comprehend  his  emotions.  He  felt  as  Columbus 
felt  when  he  saw  the  land-bird  alighting  upon  his  ship,  and  the 
drift-wood  floating  by.  But,  like  Columbus,  he  was  surrounded 
with  an  unbelieving  crew.  Eagerly  he  showed  his  charred  India- 
rubber  to  his  brother,  and  to  the  other  bystanders,  and  dwelt 
upon  the  novelty  and  marvellousness  of  his  fact.  They  regarded 
it  with  complete  indifference.  The  good  man  had  worn  them  all 
out.  Fifty  times  before,  he  had  run  to  them,  exulting  in  some 
new  discovery,  and  they  supposed,  of  course,  that  this  was  another 
of  his  chimeras. 

He  followed  the  new  clew  with  an  enthusiasm  which  his 
friends  would  have  been  justified  in  calling  frenzy,  if  success  had 
not  finally  vindicated  him.  He  soon  discovered  that  his  com- 
pound would  not  melt  at  any  degree  of  heat.  It  next  occurred 
to  him  to  ascertain  at  how  low  a  temperature  it  would  char,  and 
whether  it  was  not  possible  to  arrest  the  combustion  at  a  point 
that  would  leave  the  India-rubber  elastic,  but  deprived  of  its 
adhesiveness.  A  single  experiment  proved  that  this  was  possible. 
After  toasting  a  piece  of  his  compound  before  an  open  fire,  he 
found  that,  while  part  of  it  was  charred,  a  rim  of  India-rubber 
round  the  charred  portion  was  elastic  still,  and  even  more  elastic 
than  pure  gum.  In  a  few  days  he  had  established  three  facts  ;  — 
first,  that  this  rim  of  India-rubber  would  bear  a  temperature  of 
two  hundred  and  seventy-eight  degrees  without  charring;  second, 
that  it  would  not  melt  or  soften  at  any  heat ;  third,  that,  placed 
between  blocks  of  ice  and  left  out  of  doors  all  night,  it  would  not 
stiffen  in  the  least  degree.  He  had  triumphed,  and  he  knew  it 
He  tells  us  that  he  now  "  felt  himself  amply  repaid  for  the  past, 
and  quite  indifferent  as  to  the  trials  of  the  future."  It  was  well 
he  was  so,  for  his  darkest  days  were  before  him,  and  he  was  still 
six  years  from  a  practicable  success.  He  had,  indeed,  proved  that 
a  compound  of  sulphur  and  India-rubber,  in  proper  proportions 
and  in  certain  conditions,  being  subjected  for  a  certain  time  to  a 
certain  degree  of  heat,  undergoes  a  change  which  renders  it  per- 
fectly available  for  all  the  uses  to  which  he  had  before  attempted 


328  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

in  vain  to  apply  it.  But  it  remained  to  be  ascertained  what  wero 
those  proper  proportions,  what  were  those  conditions,  what  was 
that  degree  of  heat,  what  was  that  certain  time,  and  by  what 
means  the  heat  could  be  best  applied. 

The  difficulty  of  all  this  may  be  inferred  when  we  state  that 
at  the  present  time  it  takes  an  intelligent  man  a  year  to  learn 
how  to  conduct  the  process  with  certainty,  though  he  is  provided, 
from  the  start,  with  the  best  implements  and  appliances  which 
twenty  years'  experience  has  suggested.  And  poor  Goodyear 
had  now  reduced  himself,  not  merely  to  poverty,  but  to  isolation. 
No  friend  of  his  could  conceal  his  impatience  when  he  heard 
him  pronounce  the  word  India-rubber.  Business-men  recoiled 
from  the  name  of  it.  He  tells  us  that  two  entire  years  passed, 
after  he  had  made  his  discovery,  before  he  had  convinced  one 
human  being  of  its  value.  Now,  too,  his  experiments  could  no 
longer  be  carried  on  with  a  few  pounds  of  India-rubber,  a  quart 
of  turpentine,  a  phial  of  aquafortis,  and  a  little  lampblack.  He 
wanted  the  means  of  producing  a  high,  uniform,  and  controllable 
degree  of  heat,  —  a  matter  of  much  greater  difficulty  than  he 
anticipated.  "We  catch  brief  glimpses  of  him  at  this  time  in  the 
volumes  of  testimony.  We  see  him  waiting  for  his  wife  to  draw 
the  loaves  from  her  oven,  that  he  might  put  into  it  a  batch  of 
India-rubber  to  bake,  and  watching  it  all  the  evening,  far  into  the 
night,  to  see  what  effect  was  produced  by  one  hour's,  two  hours', 
three  hours',  six  hours'  baking.  We  see  him  boiling  it  in  his 
wife's  saucepans,  suspending  it  before  the  nose  of  her  teakettle, 
and  hanging  it  from  the  handle  of  that  vessel  to  within  an  inch 
of  the  boiling  water.  We  see  him  roasting  it  in  the  ashes  and 
in  hot  sand,  toasting  it  before  a  slow  fire  and  before  a  quick  fire, 
cooking  it  for  one  hour  and  for  twenty-four  hours,  changing  the 
proportions  of  his  compound  and  mixing  them  in  different  ways. 
No  success  rewarded  him  while  he  employed  only  domestic  uten- 
sils. Occasionally,  it  is  true,  he  produced  a  small  piece  of  per- 
fectly vulcanized  India-rubber ;  but  upon  subjecting  other  pieces 
to  precisely  the  same  process,  they  would  blister  or  char. 

Then  we  see  him  resorting  to  the  shops  and  factories  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Woburn,  asking  the  privilege  of  using  an  oven 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  829 

lifter  working  hours,  or  of  hanging  a  piece  of  India-rubber  in  the 
u  man-hole "  of  the  boiler.  The  foremen  testify  that  he  was  a 
great  plague  to  them,  and  smeared  their  works  with  his  sticky 
compound ;  but,  though  they  all  regarded  him  as  little  better 
than  a  troublesome  lunatic,  they  all  appear  to  have  helped  him 
very  willingly.  He  frankly  confesses  that  he  lived  at  this  time 
on  charity  ;  for,  although  he  felt  confident  of  being  able  to  repay 
the  small  sums  which  pity  for  his  family  enabled  him  to  borrow, 
his  neighbors  who  lent  him  the  money  were  as  far  as  possible 
from  expecting  payment.  Pretending  to  lend,  they  meant  to 
give.  One  would  pay  his  butcher's  bill  or  his  milk  bill ;  another 
would  send  in  a  barrel  of  flour  ;  another  would  take  in  payment 
some  articles  of  the  old  stock  of  India-rubber ;  and  some  of  the 
farmers  allowed  his  children  to  gather  sticks  in  their  fields  to 
heat  his  hillocks  of  sand  containing  masses  of  sulphurized  India- 
rubber.  If  the  people  of  New  England  were  not  the  most 
"  neighborly  "  people  in  the  world,  his  family  must  have  starved, 
or  he  must  have  given  up  his  experiments.  But,  with  all  the 
generosity  of  his  neighbors,  his  children  were  often  sick,  hungry, 
and  cold,  without  medicine,  food,  or  fuel.  One  witness  testifies : 
"  I  found  (in  1839)  that  they  had  not  fuel  to  burn  nor  food  to 
eat,  and  did  not  know  where  to  get  a  morsel  of  food  from  one 
day  to  another,  unless  it  was  sent  in  to  them."  We  can  neither 
justify  nor  condemn  their  father.  Imagine  Columbus  within 
sight  of  the  new  world,  and  his  obstinate  crew  declaring  it  was 
only  a  mirage,  and  refusing  to  row  him  ashore !  Never  was 
mortal  man  surer  that  he  had  a  fortune  in  his  hand,  than  Charles 
Goodyear  was  when  he  would  take  a  piece  of  scorched  and  dingy 
India-rubber  from  his  pocket  and  expound  its  marvellous  proper- 
ties to  a  group  of  incredulous  villagers.  Sure  also  was  he  that 
he  was  just  upon  the  point  of  a  practicable  success.  Give  him  but 
an  oven,  and  would  he  not  turn  you  out  fire-proof  and  cold-proof 
India-rubber,  as  fast  as  a  baser  can  produce  loaves  of  bread  ? 
Nor  was  it  merely  the  hope  of  deliverance  from  his  pecuniary 
straits  that  urged  him  on.  In  all  the  records  of  his  career,  we 
perceive  traces  of  something  nobler  than  this.  His  health  being 
Hi  ways  infirm,  he  was  haunted  with  the  dread  of  dying  before  he 


380  OHAELES   GOODYEAB. 

had  reached  a  point  in  his  discoveries  where  other  men,  influ- 
enced by  ordinary  motives,  could  render  them  available. 

By  the  time  that  he  had  exhausted  the  patience  of  the  foremen 
of  the  works  near  Woburn,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
an  oven  was  the  proper  means  of  applying  heat  to  his  compound. 
An  oven  he  forthwith  determined  to  build.  Having  obtained  the 
use  of  a  corner  of  a  factory  yard,  his  aged  father,  two  of  his 
brothers,  his  little  son,  and  himself  sallied  forth,  with  pickaxe 
and  shovels,  to  begin  the  work  :  and  when  they  had  done  all  that 
unskilled  labor  could  effect  towards  it,  he  induced  a  mason  to 
complete  it,  and  paid  him  in  bricklayers'  aprons  made  of  aqua- 
fortized  India-rubber.  This  first  oven  was  a  tantalizing  failure. 
The  heat  was  neither  uniform  nor  controllable.  Some  of  the 
pieces  of  India-rubber  would  come  out  so  perfectly  "  cured "  as 
to  demonstrate  the  utility  of  his  discovery ;  but  others,  prepared 
in  precisely  the  same  manner,  as  far  as  he  could  discern,  were 
spoiled,  either  by  blistering  or  charring.  He  was  puzzled  and 
distressed  beyond  description  ;  and  no  single  voice  consoled  or 
encouraged  him.  Out  of  the  first  piece  of  cloth  which  he  suc- 
ceeded in  vulcanizing  he  had  a  coat  made  for  himself,  which  was 
not  an  ornamental  garment  in  its  best  estate ;  but,  to  prove  to 
the  unbelievers  that  it  would  stand  fire,  he  brought  it  so  often  in 
contact  with  hot  stoves,  that  at  last  it  presented  an  exceedingly 
dingy  appearance.  His  coat  did  not  impress  the  public  favorably, 
and  it  served  to  confirm  the  opinion  that  he  was  laboring  under 
a  mania. 

In  the  midst  of  his  first  disheartening  experiments  with  sul- 
phur, he  had  an  opportunity  of  escaping  at  once  from  his  troubles. 
A  house  in  Paris  made  him  an  advantageous  offer  for  the  use  of 
his  aquafortis  process.  From  the  abyss  of  his  misery  the  honest 
man  promptly  replied,  that  that  process,  valuable  as  it  was,  was 
about  to  be  superseded  by  a  new  method,  which  he  was  then 
perfecting,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  developed  it  sufficiently  he 
should  be  glad  to  close  with  their  offers.  Can  we  wonder  that 
his  neighbors  thought  him  mad  ? 

It  was  just  after  declining  the  French  proposal  that  he  endured 
his  worst  extremity  of  want  and  humiliation.  It  was  in  the  win- 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  331 

lei  of  1839  -  40.  One  of  those  long  and  terrible  snow-storms  for 
which  New  England  is  noted  had  been  raging  for  many  hours, 
and  he  awoke  one  morning  to  find  his  little  cottage  half  buried  in 
snow,  the  storm  still  continuing,  and  in  his  house  not  an  atom  of 
fuel  nor  a  morsel  of  food.  His  children  were  very  young,  and 
he  was  himself  sick  and  feeble.  The  charity  of  his  neighbors 
was  exhausted,  and  he  had  not  the  courage  to  face  their  re- 
proaches. As  he  looked  out  of  the  window  upon  the  dreary  and 
tumultuous  scene,  "  fit  emblem  of  his  condition,"  he  remarks,  he 
called  to  mind  that,  a  few  days  before,  an  acquaintance,  a  mere 
acquaintance,  who  lived  some  miles  off,  had  given  him  upon  the 
road  a  more  friendly  greeting  than  he  was  then  accustomed  to 
receive.  It  had  cheered  his  heart  as  he  trudged  sadly  by,  and  it 
now  returned  vividly  to  his  mind.  To  this  gentleman  he  deter- 
mined to  apply  for  relief,  if  he  could  reach  his  house.  Terrible 
was  his  struggle  with  the  wind  and  the  deep  drifts.  Often  he 
was  ready  to  faint  with  fatigue,  sickness,  and  hunger,  and  he 
would  be  obliged  to  sit  down  upon  a  bank  of  snow  to  rest.  He 
reached  the  house  and  told  his  story,  not  omitting  the  oft-told  tale 
of  his  new  discovery,  —  that  mine  of  wealth,  if  only  he  could 
procure  the  means  of  working  it !  The  eager  eloquence  of  the 
inventor  was  seconded  by  the  gaunt  and  yellow  face  of  the  man 
His  generous  acquaintance  entertained  him  cordially,  and  lent 
him  a  sum  of  money,  which  not  only  carried  his  family  through 
the  worst  of  the  winter,  but  enabled  him  to  continue  his  experi- 
ments on  a  small  scale.  0.  B.  Coolidge,  of  Woburn,  was  the 
name  of  this  benefactor. 

On  another  occasion,  when  he  was  in  the  most  urgent  need  of 
materials,  he  looked  about  his  house  to  see  if  there  was  left  one 
relic  of  better  days  upon  which  a  little  money  could  be  borrowed. 
There  was  nothing  except  his  children's  school-books,  —  the  last 
things  from  which  a  New-Englander  is  willing  to  part.  There 
was  no  other  resource.  He  gathered  them  up  and  sold  them  for 
five  dollars,  with  which  he  laid  in  a  fresh  stock  of  gum  and  sul- 
phur, and  kept  on  experimenting. 

Seeing  no  prospect  of  success  in.  Massachusetts,  he  now  resolved 
to  make  a  desperate  effort  to  get  to  New  York,  feeling  confident 


382  CHARLES   GOODYEAB. 

that  the  specimens  he  could  take  with  him  would  con  rinoe  some 
one  of  the  superiority  of  his  new  method.  He  was  beginning  to 
understand  the  causes  of  his  many  failures,  but  he  saw  clearly 
that  his  compound  could  not  be  worked  with  certainty  without 
expensive  apparatus.  It  was  a  very  delicate  operation,  icquiring 
exactness  and  promptitude.  The  conditions  upon  whicti  success 
depended  were  numerous,  and  the  failure  of  one  spoiled  all.  To 
vulcanize  India-rubber  is  about  as  difficult  as  to  make  perfect 
bread ;  but  the  art  of  bread-making  was  the  growth  of  ages,  and 
Charles  Goodyear  was  only  ten  years  and  a  half  in  perfecting 
his  process.  Thousands  of  ingenious  men  and  women,  aided  by 
many  happy  accidents,  must  have  contributed  to  the  successive 
invention  of  bread  ;  but  he  was  only  one  man,  poor  and  sick.  It 
cost  him  thousands  of  failures  to  learn  that  a  little  aciri  in  his 
sulphur  caused  the  blistering ;  that  his  compound  must  oe  heated 
almost  immediately  after  being  mixed,  or  it  would  n«Tcr  vulcan- 
ize ;  that  a  portion  of  white  lead  in  the  compound  ^leitly  facili- 
tated the  operation  and  improved  the  result ;  and  when  he  had 
learned  these  facts,  it  still  required  costly  and  laborious  experi- 
ments to  devise  the  best  methods  of  compounding  his  ingredients, 
the  best  proportions,  the  best  mode  of  heating,  the  proper  dura- 
tion of  the  heating,  and  the  various  useful  effects  that  could  be 
produced  by  varying  the  proportions  and  the  degree  of  heat.  He 
tells  us  that  many  times,  when,  by  exhausting  every  resource,  he 
had  prepared  a  quantity  of  his  compound  for  heating,  it  was 
spoiled  because  he  could  not,  with  his  inadequate  apparatus,  ap- 
ply tho  heat  soon  enough. 

To  New  York,  then,  he  directed  his  thoughts.  Merely  to  get 
there  cost  him  a  severer  and  a  longer  effort  tha'i  men  in  general 
are  capable  of  making.  First  he  walked  to  Boston,  ten  miles 
distant,  where  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  borrow  from  an  old  ac- 
quaintance fifty  dollars,  with  which  to  provide  for  his  family  and 
pay  his  fare  to  New  York.  He  not  only  failed  in  this,  but  he 
was  arrested  for  debt  and  thrown  into  prison.  Even  in  prison, 
while  his  father  was  negotiating  to  secure  his  release,  he  labored 
to  interest  men  of  capital  hi  his  discovery,  arid  made  proposals  for 
founding  a  factory  in  Boston.  Having  obtained  his  liberty,  ha 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  333 

went  to  a  hotel,  and  spent  a  week  in  vain  efforts  to  effect  a  small 
loan.  Saturday  nigLt  came,  and  with  it  his  hotel  bill,  which  he 
had  no  means  of  discharging.  In  an  agony  of  shame  and  anxie- 
ty >  he  went  to  a  friend,  and  entreated  the  sum  of  five  dollars  to 
enable  him  to  return  home.  He  was  met  with  a  point-blank  re- 
fusal. In  the  deepest  dejection,  he  walked  the  streets  till  late  in 
the  night,  and  strayed  at  length,  almost  beside  himself,  to  Cam- 
bridge, where  he  ventured  to  call  upon  a  friend  and  ask  shelter 
for  the  night.  He  was  hospitably  entertained,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing walked  wearily  home,  penniless  and  despairing.  At  the  door 
of  his  house  a  member  of  his  family  met  him  with  the  news  that 
his  youngest  child,  two  years  of  age,  whom  he  had  left  in  perfect 
health,  was  dying.  In  a  few  hours  he  had  in  his  house  a  dead 
child,  but  not  the  means  of  burying  it,  and  five  living  dependants 
without  a  morsel  of  food  to  give  them.  A  storekeeper  near  by 
had  promised  to  supply  the  family,  but,  discouraged  by  the  un- 
foreseen length  of  the  father's  absence,  he  had  that  day  refused 
to  trust  them  further.  In  these  terrible  circumstances,  he  ap- 
plied to  a  friend  upon  whose  generosity  he  knew  he  could  rely, 
one  who  had  never  failed  him.  He  received  in  reply  a  letter  of 
severe  and  cutting  reproach,  enclosing  seven  dollars,  which  his 
friend  explained  was  given  only  out  of  pity  for  his  innocent  and 
suffering  family.  A  stranger,  who  chanced  to  be  present  when 
this  letter  arrived,  sent  them  a  barrel  of  flour,  —  a  timely  and 
blessed  relief.  The  next  day  the  family  followed  on  foot  the  re- 
mains of  the  little  child  to  the  grave. 

A  relation  in  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  to  whom  Goodyear 
revealed  his  condition,  sent  him  fifty  dollars,  which  enabled  him 
to  got  to  New  York.  He  had  touched  bottom.  The  worst  of 
his  trials  were  over.  In  New  York,  he  had  the  good  fortune  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  two  brothers,  William  Rider  and  Emory 
Rider,  men  of  some  property  and  great  intelligence,  who  exam- 
ined his  specimens,  listened  to  his  story,  believed  in  him,  and 
Agreed  to  aid  him  to  continue  his  experiments,  and  to  supply  his 
family  until  he  had  rendered  his  discovery  available.  From  that 
time,  though  he  was  generally  embarrassed  in  his  circumstances, 
his  family  nevei  wanted  bread,  and  he  was  never  obliged  to  SUB- 


834  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

pend  his  experiments.  Aided  by  the  capital,  the  sympathy,  and 
the  ingenuity  of  the  brothers  Rider,  he  spent  a  year  in  New  York 
in  the  most  patient  endeavors  to  overcome  the  difficulties  in 
heating  his  compound.  Before  he  had  succeeded,  their  resources 
failed.  But  he  had  made  such  progress  in  demonstrating  the 
practicability  of  his  process,  that  his  brother-in-law,  William  De 
Forrest,  a  noted  woollen  manufacturer,  took  hold  of  the  project 
in  earnest,  and  aided  him  to  bring  it  to  perfection.  Once  more, 
however,  he  was  imprisoned  for  debt.  This  event  conquered  his 
scruples  against  availing  himself  of  the  benefit  of  the  bankrupt 
act,  which  finally  delivered  him  from  the  danger  of  arrest  We 
should  add,  however,  that,  as  soon  as  he  began  to  derive  income 
from  his  invention,  he  reassumed  his  obligations  to  his  old  credit- 
ors, and  discharged  them  gradually. 

It  was  not  till  the  year  1844,  more  than  ten  years  after  he 
began  to  experiment,  and  more  than  five  years  after  discovering 
the  secret  of  vulcanization,  that  he  was  able  to  conduct  his  pro- 
cess with  absolute  certainty,  and  to  produce  vulcanized  India- 
rubber  with  the  requisite  expedition  and  economy.  We  can  form 
some  conception  of  the  difficulties  overcome  by  the  fact,  that  the 
advances  of  Mr.  De  Forrest  in  aid  of  the  experiment  reached 
the  sum  of  forty-six  thousand  dollars,  —  an  amount  the  inventor 
did  not  live  long  enough  to  repay. 

His  triumph  had  been  long  deferred,  and  we  have  seen  in  part 
how  much  it  had  cost  him.  But  his  success  proved  to  be  richly 
worth  its  cost.  He  had  added  to  the  arts,  not  a  new  material 
merely,  but  a  new  class  of  materials,  applicable  to  a  thousand 
diverse  uses.  His  product  had  more  than  the  elasticity  of  India- 
rubber,  while  it  was  divested  of  all  those  properties  which  had 
lessened  its  utility.  It  was  still  India-rubber,  but  its  surfaces 
would  not  adhere,  nor  would  it  harden  at  any  degree  of  cold,  nor 
soften  at  any  degree  of  heat.  It  was  a  cloth  impervious  to  water. 
It  was  paper  that  would  not  tear.  It  was  parchment  that  would 
oot  crease.  It  was  leather  which  neither  rain  nor  sun  would  in- 
jure. It  was  ebony  that  could  be  run  into  a  mould.  It  was  ivory 
that  could  be  worked  like  (vax.  It  was  wood  that  never  cracked, 
shrunk,  nor  decayed.  It  was  metal,  "  elastic  metal,"  is  Daniel 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  335 

Webster  termed  it,  that  could  be  wound  round  the  finger  or  tied 
into  a  knot,  and  which  preserved  its  elasticity  almost  like  steel. 
Trifling  variations  in  the  ingredients,  in  the  proportions,  and  in 
the  heating,  made  it  either  as  pliable  as  kid,  tougher  than  ox-hide, 
as  elastic  as  whalebone,  or  as  rigid  as  flint. 

All  this  is  stated  in  a  moment,  but  each  of  these  variations  in 
the  material,  as  well  as  every  article  made  from  them,  cost  this 
indefatigable  man  days,  weeks,  months,  or  years  of  experiment. 
It  cost  him,  for  example,  several  years  of  most  expensive  trial  to 
obviate  the  objection  to  India-rubber  fabrics  caused  by  the  liabil- 
ity of  the  gum  to  peel  from  the  cloth.  He  tried  every  known 
textile  fabric,  and  every  conceivable  process  before  arriving  at 
the  simple  expedient  of  mixing  fibre  with  the  gum,  by  which, 
at  length,  the  perfect  India-rubber  cloth  was  produced.  This  in- 
vention he  considered  only  second  in  value  to  the  discovery  of 
vulcanization.  The  India-rubber  shoe,  as  we  now  have  it,  is  an 
admirable  article,  —  light,  strong,  elegant  in  shape,  with  a  fibrous 
sole  that  does  not  readily  wear,  cut,  or  slip.  As  the  shoe  is  made 
and  joined  before  vulcanization,  a  girl  can  make  twenty-five  pairs 
in  a  day.  They  are  cut  from  the  soft  sheets  of  gum  and  joined 
by  a  slight  pressure  of  the  hand.  But  almost  every  step  of  this 
process,  now  so  simple  and  easy,  was  patiently  elaborated  by 
Charles  Goodyear.  A  million  and  a  half  of  pairs  per  annum  is 
now  the  average  number  made  in  the  United  States  by  his  pro- 
cess, though  the  business  languishes  somewhat  from  the  high 
price  of  the  raw  materials.  The  gum,  which,  when  Goodyear 
began  his  experiments,  was  a  drug  at  five  cents  a  pound,  has 
recently  been  sold  at  one  dollar  and  twenty  cents  a  pound,  with 
all  its  impurities.  Even  at  this  high  price  the  annual  import 
ranges  at  from  four  to  five  millions  of  pounds. 

Poor  Richard  informs  us  that  Necessity  never  makes  a  good 
bargain.  Mr.  Goodyear  was  always  a  prey  to  necessity.  Nor 
was  he  ever  a  good  man  of  business.  He  was  too  entirely  an 
inventor  to  know  how  to  dispose  of  his  inventions  to  advantage ; 
and  he  could  never  feel  that  he  had  accomplished  his  mission 
•with  regard  to  India-rubber.  As  soon  as  he  had  brought  his 
nhoemaking  process  to  the  point  where  other  men  could  make  it 


336  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

profitable,  he  withdrew  from  manufacturing,  and  sold  rights  to 
manufacture  for  the  consideration  of  half  a  cent  per  pair.  Five 
cents  had  been  reasonable  enough,  and  would  have  given  him 
ample  means  to  continue  his  labors.  Half  a  cent  kept  him  sub- 
ject to  necessity,  which  seemed  to  compel  him  to  dispose 
of  other  rights  at  rates  equally  low.  Thus  it  happened 
that,  when  the  whole  India-rubber  business  of  the  country  paid 
him  tribute,  or  ought  to  have  paid  it,  he  remained  an  embarrassed 
man.  He  had,  too,  the  usual  fate  of  inventors,  in  having  to  con- 
tend with  the  infringers  of  his  rights,  —  men  who  owed  their  all 
to  his  ingenuity  and  perseverance.  We  mayjudge,  however,  of 
the  rapidity  with  which  the  business  grew,  by  the  fact  that,  six 
years  after  the  completion  of  his  vulcanizing  process,  the  holders 
of  rights  to  manufacture  shoes  by  that  process  deemed  it  worth 
while  to  employ  Daniel  "Webster  to  plead  their  cause,  and  tc 
stimulate  his  mind  by  a  fee  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  It  is< 
questionable  if  Charles  Goodyear  ever  derived  that  amount  from 
his  patents,  if  we  deduct  from  his  receipts  the  money  spent  in 
further  developing  his  discovery.  His  ill-health  obliged  him  to 
be  abstemious,  and  he  had  no  expensive  tastes.  It  was  only  in 
his  laboratory  that  he  was  lavish,  and  there  he  was  lavish  indeed. 
His  friends  still  smiled  at  his  zeal,  or  reproached  him  for  it. 
It  has  been  only  since  the  mighty  growth  of  the  business  in  his 
products  that  they  have  acknowledged  that  he  was  right  and  that 
they  were  wrong.  They  remember  him,  sick,  meagre,  and  yel- 
low, now  coming  to  them  with  a  walking-stick  of  India-rubber, 
exulting  in  the  new  application  of  his  material,  and  predicting  its 
general  use,  while  they  objected  that  his  stick  had  cost  him  fifty 
dollars ;  now  running  about  among  the  comb  factories,  trying  to 
get  reluctant  men  to  try  their  tools  upon  hard  India-rubber,  and 
producing  at  length  a  set  of  combs  that  cost  twenty  times  the 
price  of  ivory  ones ;  now  shutting  himself  up  for  months,  endeav- 
oring to  make  a  sail  of  India-rubber  fabric,  impervious  to  water 
that  should  never  freeze,  and  to  which  no  sleet  or  ice  should  ever 
cling ;  now  exhibiting  a  set  of  cutlery  with  India-rubber  handles 
or  a  picture  set  in  an  India-rubber  frame,  or  a  book  with  India- 
•ubber  covers,  or  a  watch  with  an  India-rubber  case ;  now  exper- 


CHABLES  GOODYEAR  337 

imenling  with  India-rubber  tiles  for  floors,  which  he  hoped  to 
make  as  brilliant  in  color  as  those  of  mineral,  as  agreeable  to  the 
tread  as  carpet,  and  as  durable  as  an  ancient  floor  of  oak.  There 
is  nothing  in  the  history  of  invention  more  remarkable  than  the 
devotion  of  this  man  to  his  object.  No  crusader  was  ever  so 
devoted  to  his  vow,  no  lover  to  his  mistress,  as  he  was  to  his 
purpose  of  showing  mankind  what  to  do  with  India-rubber.  The 
doorplate  of  his  office  was  made  of  it;  his  portrait  was  painted 
upon  and  framed  with  it ;  his  book,  as  we  have  seen,  was  wholly 
composed  of  it ;  and  his  mind,  by  night  and  day,  was  surcharged 
with  it.  He  never  went  to  sleep  without  having  within  reach 
writing  materials  and  the  means  of  making  a  light,  so  that,  if  he 
should  have  an  idea  in  the  night,  he  might  be  able  to  secure  it. 
Some  of  his  best  ideas,  he  used  to  say,  were  saved  to  mankind 
by  this  precaution. 

It  is  not  well  for  any  man  to  be  thus  absorbed  in  his  object. 
To  Goodyear,  whose  infirm  constitution  peculiarly  needed  repose 
and  recreation,  it  was  disastrous,  and  at  length  fatal.  It  is  well 
with  no  man  who  does  not  play  as  well  as  work.  Fortunately, 
we  are  all  beginning  to  understand  this.  We  are  beginning  to 
see  that  a  devotion  to  the  business  of  life  which  leaves  no  reserve 
of  force  and  time  for  social  pleasures  and  the  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge, diminishes  even  our  power  to  conduct  business  with  the 
sustained  and  intelligent  energy  requisite  for  a  safe  success.  That 
is  a  melancholy  passage  in  one  of  Theodore  Parker's  letters, 
written  in  the  premature  decline  of  his  powers,  in  which  he  la- 
ments that  he  had  not,  like  Franklin,  joined  a  club,  and  taken  an 
occasional  ramble  with  young  companions  in  the  country,  and 
played  billiards  with  them  in  the  evening.  He  added,  that  he  in- 
tended to  lead  a  better  life  in  these  particulars  for  the  future ;  but 
who  can  reform  at  forty-seven  ?  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  ill- 
health,  the  natural  ally  of  all  evil,  favors  intensity,  lessening 
both  our  power  and  our  inclination  to  get  out  of  the  routine  that 
is  destroying  us.  Goodyear,  always  sick,  had  been  for  so  many 
years  the  slave  of  his  pursuit,  he  had  been  so  spurred  on  by  ne- 
cessity, and  lured  by  partial  success,  that,  when  at  last  he  might 
have  rested,  he  could  not. 

15  * 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

It  does  not  become  us,  however,  who  reap  the  harvest,  to  cen- 
sure him  who  wore  himself  out  in  sowing  the  seed.  The  harvest 
is  great,  —  greater  than  any  but  he  anticipated.  His  friends 
know  now  that  he  never  over-estimated  the  value  of  his  invention. 
They  know  now  what  he  meant  when  he  said  that  no  one  but 
himself  would  take  the  trouble  to  apply  his  material  to  the  thou- 
sand uses  of  which  it  was  capable,  because  each  new  application 
demanded  a  course  of  experiments  that  would  discourage  any  one 
who  entered  upon  it  only  with  a  view  to  profit.  The  India-rub- 
ber manufacture,  since  his  death,  has  increased  greatly  in  extent, 
but  not  much  in  other  respects,  and  some  of  the  ideas  which  .he 
valued  most  remain  undeveloped.  He  died,  for  example,  in  the 
conviction  that  sails  of  India-rubber  cloth  would  finally  supersede 
all  others.  He  spent  six  months  and  five  thousand  dollars  in  pro- 
ducing one  or  two  specimens,  which  were  tried  and  answered  their 
purpose  well ;  but  he  was  unable  to  bring  his  sail-making  process 
to  an  available  perfection.  The  sole  difficulty  was  to  make  his 
sails  as  light  as  those  of  cloth.  He  felt  certain  of  being  able  to 
accomplish  this ;  but  in  the  multiplicity  of  his  objects  and  the 
pressure  of  his  embarrassments,  he  was  compelled  to  defer  the 
completion  of  his  plans  to  a  day  that  never  came. 

The  catalogue  of  his  successful  efforts  is  long  and  striking. 
The  second  volume  of  his  book  is  wholly  occupied  with  that  cat- 
alogue. He  lived  to  see  his  material  applied  to  nearly  five  hun- 
dred uses,  to  give  employment  in  England,  France,  Germany 
and  the  United  States  to  sixty  thousand  persons,  who  annually 
produced  merchandise  of  the  value  of  eight  millions  of  dollars. 
A  man  does  much  who  only  founds  a  new  kind  of  industry  ;  and 
he  does  more  when  that  industry  gives  value  to  a  commodity  that 
before  was  nearly  valueless.  But  we  should  greatly  undervalue 
the  labors  of  Charles  Goodyear,  if  we  regarded  them  only  as 
opening  a  new  source  of  wealth ;  for  there  have  been  found  many 
uses  of  India-rubber,  as  prepared  by  him,  which  have  an  impor- 
tance far  superior  to  their  commercial  value.  Art,  science,  and 
humanity  are  indebted  to  him  for  a  material  which  serves  the 
purposes  of  'them  all,  and  serves  them  as  no  other  known  mate» 
rial  could. 


CHARLES  GOODYEAR.  339 

Some  of  our  readers  have  been  out  on  the  picket-line  during 
the  war.  They  know  what  it  is  to  stand  motionless  in  a  wet  and 
miry  rifle-pit,  in  the  chilling  rain  of  a  Southern  winter's  night 
Protected  by  India-rubber  boots,  blanket,  and  cap,  the  picket- 
man  performs  in  comparative  comfort  a  duty  which,  without  that 
protection,  would  make  him  a  cowering  and  shivering  wretch,  and 
plant  in  his  bones  a  latent  rheumatism  to  be  the  torment  of  his 
old  age.  Goodyear's  India-rubber  enables  him  to  come  in  from 
his  pit  as  dry  as  he  was  when  he  went  into  it,  and  he  comes  in  to 
lie  down  with  an  India-rubber  blanket  between  him  and  the  damp 
earth.  -  If  he  is  wounded,  it  is  an  India-rubber  stretcher,  or  an 
ambulance  provided  with  India-rubber  springs,  that  gives  him 
least  pain  on  his  way  to  the  hospital,  where,  if  his  wound  is  seri- 
ou?,  a  water-bed  of  India-rubber  gives  ease  to  his  mangled  frame, 
and  enables  him  to  endure  the  wearing  tedium  of  an  unchanged 
posture.  Bandages  and  supporters  of  India-rubber  avail  him  much 
when  first  he  begins  to  hobble  about  his  ward.  A  piece  of  India- 
rubber  at  the  end  of  his  crutch  lessens  the  jar  and  the  noise  of 
his  motions,  and  a  cushion  of  India-rubber  is  comfortable  to  hia 
armpit.  The  springs  which  close  the  hospital  door,  the  bands 
which  exclude  the  drafts  from  doors  and  windows,  his  pocket- 
comb  and  cup  and  thimble,  are  of  the  same  material  From  jars 
hermetically  closed  with  India-rubber  he  receives  the  fresh  fruit 
that  is  so  exquisitely  delicious  to  a  fevered  mouth.  The  instru- 
ment-case of  his  surgeon  and  the  store-room  of  his  matron  con- 
tain many  articles  whose  utility  is  increased  by  the  use  of  it,  and 
some  that  could  be  made  of  nothing  else.  His  shirts  and  sheets 
pass  through  an  India-rubber  clothes- wringer,  which  saves  the' 
strength  of  the  washerwoman  and  the  fibre  of  the  fabric.  When 
the  government  presents  him  with  an  artificial  leg,  a  thick  heel  and 
elastic  sole  of  India-rubber  give  him  comfort  every  time  he  puts 
it  to  the  ground.  An  India-rubber  pipe  with  an  inse^d  bowl 
of  clay,  a  billiard-table  provided  with  India-rubber  cushions  and 
balls,  can  solace  his  long  convalescence. 

In  the  field,  this  material  is  not  less  strikingly  useful.  During 
this  war,  armies  have  marched  through  ten  days  of  rain,  and  slept 
through  as  many  rainy  nights,  and  come  out  dry  into  the  return- 


340  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

ing  sunshine,  with  its  artillery  untarnished  and  its  ammunition  un 
injured,  because  men  and  munitions  were  all  under  India-rubber 
When  Goodyear's  ideas  are  carried  out,  it  will  be  by  pontoons  of 
inflated  India-rubber  that  rivers  will  be  crossed.  A  pontoon-train 
will  then  consist  of  one  wagon  drawn  by  two  mules  ;  and  if  the 
march  is  through  a  country  that  furnishes  the  wooden  part  of  the 
bridge,  a  man  may  carry  a  pontoon  on  bis  back  in  addition  to  his 
knapsack  and  blanket. 

In  the  naval  service  we  meet  this  material  in  a  form  that  at- 
tracts little  attention,  though  it  serves  a  purpose  of  perhaps  un- 
equalled utility.  Mechanics  are  aware,  that,  from  the  time  of 
James  "Watt  to  the  year  1850,  the  grand  desideratum  of  the  en- 
gine-builder was  a  perfect  joint,  —  a  joint  that  would  not  admit 
the  escape  of  steam.  A  steam-engine  is  all  over  joints  and  valves, 
from  most  of  which  some  steam  sooner  or  later  would  escape, 
since  an  engine  in  motion  produces  a  continual  jar  that  finally 
impaired  the  best  joint  that  art  could  make.  The  old  joint-mak- 
ing process  was  exceedingly  expensive.  The  two  surfaces  of 
iron  had  to  be  most  carefully  ground  and  polished,  then  screwed 
together,  and  the  edges  closed  with  white  lead.  By  the  use  of  a 
thin  sheet  of  vulcanized  India-rubber,  placed  between  the  iron 
surfaces,  not  only  is  all  this  expense  saved,  but  a  joint  is  produced 
that  is  absolutely  and  permanently  perfect.  It  is  not  even  neces- 
sary to  rub  off  the  roughness  of  the  casting,  for  the  rougher  the 
surface,  the  better  the  joint.  Goodyear's  invention  supplies  an 
article  that  "Watt  and  Fulton  sought  in  vain,  and  which  would 
seem  to  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  steam-engine,  —  if,  in  these 
days  of  improvement,  anything  whatever  could  be  considered 
finished.  At  present,  all  engines  are  provided  with  these  joints 
and  valves,  which  save  steam,  diminish  jar,  and  facilitate  the 
separation  of  the  parts.  It  is  difficult  to  compute  the  value  of 
this  improvement,  in  money.  "We  are  informed,  however,  by 
competent  authority,  that  a  steamer  of  two  thousand  tons  saves 
ten  thousand  dollars  a  year  by  its  use.  •  Such  is  the  demand  for 
the  engine-packing,  as  it  is  termed,  that  the  owners  of  the  factory 
where  it  is  chiefly  made,  after  constructing  the  largest  water- 
wheel  in  the  world,  found  it  insufficient  for  their  growing  business 


CHARLES  GOODYEAR.  341 

and  were  obliged  to  add  to  it  a  steam-engine  of  two  hundred 
horse-power.  The  New  York  agent  of  this  company  sells  about 
a  million  dollars'  worth  of  packing  per  annum. 

Belting  for  engines  is  another  article  for  which  Goodyear's 
compound  is  superior  to  any  other,  inasmuch  as  the  surface  of 
the  India-rubber  clings  to  the  iron  wheel  better  than  leather  or 
fabric.  Leather  polishes  and  slips  ;  India-rubber  does  not  polish, 
and  holds  to  the  iron  so  firmly  as  to  save  a  large  percentage  of 
power.  It  is  no  small  advantage  merely  to  save  leather  for  other 
uses,  since  leather  is  an  article  of  which  the  supply  is  strictly 
limited.  It  is  not  uncommon  for  India-rubber  belts  to  be  fur- 
nished, which,  if  made  of  leather,  would  require  more  than  a 
hundred  hides.  Emery-wheels  of  this  material  have  been  recent- 
ly introduced.  They  were  formerly  made  of  wood  coated  with 
emery,  which  soon  wore  off.  In  the  new  manufacture,  the  emery 
is  kneaded  into  the  entire  mass  of  the  wheel,  which  can  be  worn 
down  till  it  is  all  consumed.  On  the  same  principle  the  instru- 
ments used  to  sharpen  scythes  are  also  made.  Of  late  we  hear 
excellent  accounts  of  India-rubber  as  a  basis  for  artificial  teeth. 
It  is  said  to  be  lighter,  more  agreeable,  less  expensive,  than  gold 
or  platina,  and  not  less  durable.  We  have  seen  also  some  very 
pretty  watch-cases  of  this  material,  elegantly  inlaid  with  gold. 

It  thus  appears,  that  the  result  of  Mr.  Goodyear's  long  and 
painful  struggles  was  the  production  of  a  material  which  now 
ranks  with  the  leading  compounds  of  commerce  and  manufacture, 
such  as  glass,  brass,  steel,  paper,  porcelain,  paint.  Considering 
its  peculiar  and  varied  utility,  it  is  perhaps  inferior  in  value  only 
to  paper,  steel,  and  glass.  "We  see,  also,  that  the  use  of  the  new 
compound  lessens  the  consumption  of  several  commodities,  such 
as  ivory,  bone,  ebony,  and  leather,  which  it  is  desirable  to  save, 
because  the  demand  for  them  tends  to  increase  faster  than  the 
supply.  When  a  set  of  ivory  billiard-balls  costs  fifty  dollars,  and 
civilization  presses  upon  the  domain  of  the  elephant,  it  is  well  to 
make  our  combs  and  our  paper-knives  of  something  else. 

That  inventions  so  valuable  should  be  disputed  and  pirated 
was  something  which  tte  history  of  all  the  great  inventions  might 
have  taught  Mr.  Goodyear  to  expect.  We  need  not  revive  those 


842  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

disputes  which  embittered  his  life  and  wasted  his  substance  and 
his  time.  The  Honorable  Joseph  Holt,  the  Commissioner  who 
granted  an  extension  to  the  vulcanizing  patent  in  1858,  has  suffl 
ciently  characterized  them  in  one  of  the  most  eloquent  papers 
ever  issued  from  the  Patent  Office :  — 

"  No  inventor  probably  has  ever  been  so  harassed,  so  trampled  upon, 
so  plundered  by  that  sordid  and  licentious  class  of  infringers  known  in 
the  parlance  of  the  world,  with  no  exaggeration  of  phrase,  as  '  pirates.' 
The  spoliations  of  their  incessant  guerilla  warfare  upon  his  defenceless 
rights  have  unquestionably  amounted  to  millions.  In  the  very  front 
rank  of  this  predatory  band  stands  one  who  sustains  in  this  case  the 
double  and  most  convenient  character  of  contestant  and  witness ;  and 
it  is  but  a  subdued  expression  of  my  estimate  of  the  deposition  he  has 
lodged,  to  say  that  this  Parthian  shaft  —  the  last  that  he  could  hurl  at 
an  invention  which  he  has  so  long  and  so  remorselessly  pursued  —  is  a 
fitting  finale  to  that  career  which  the  public  justice  of  the  country  has 
so  signally  rebuked." 

Mr.  Holt  paid  a  noble  tributo  to  the  class  of  men  of  whose 
rights  he  was  the  official  guardian  :  — 

"All  that  is  glorious  in  our  past  or  hopeful  in  our  future  is  indissolu- 
bly  linked  with  that  cause  of  human  progress  of  which  inventors  are 
the  preux  chevaliers.  It  is  no  poetic  translation  of  the  abiding  senti- 
ment of  the  country  to  say,  that  they  are  the  true  jewels  of  the  nation 
to  which  they  belong,  and  that  a  solicitude  for  the  protection  of  their 
rights  and  interests  should  find  a  place  in  every  throb  of  the  national 
heart.  Sadly  helpless  as  a  class,  and  offering,  in  the  glittering  creations 
of  their  own  genius,  the  strongest  temptations  to  unscrupulous  cupidity, 
they,  of  all  men,  have  most  need  of  the  shelter  of  the  public  law,  while, 
in  view  of  their  philanthropic  labors,  they  are  of  all  men  most  entitled 
to  claim  it.  The  schemes  of  the  politician  and  of  the  statesman  may 
subserve  the  purposes  of  the  hour,  and  the  teachings  of  the  moralist 
may  remain  with  the  generation  to  which  they  are  addressed,  but  all 
this  must  pass  away;  while  the  fruits  of  the  inventor's  genius  will 
endure  as  imperishable  memorials,  and,  surviving  the  wreck  of  creeds 
and  systems,  alike  of  politics,  religion,  and  philosophy,  will  diffuse 
their  blessings  to  all  lands  and  throughout  all  ages." 

When  Mr.  Goodyear  had  seen  the  manufacture  of  shoes  and 
fabrics  well  established  in  the  United  States,  and  when  his  righta 
appeared  to  have  been  placed  V^yond  controversy  by  the  Trenton 


CHARLES   GOODYEAR.  343 

tlecisiovi  of  1852,  being  still  oppressed  with  debt,  ho  went  to 
Europe  to  introduce  his  material  to  the  notice  of  capitalists  there. 
The  great  manufactories  of  vulcanized  India-rubber  in  England, 
Scotland,  France,  and  Germany  are  the  result  of  his  labors ;  but 
the  peculiarities  of  the  patent  laws  of  those  countries,  or  else  his 
own  want  of  skill  in  contending  for  his  rights,  prevented  him 
from  reaping  the  reward  of  his  labors.  He  spent  six  laborious 
years  abroad.  At  the  Great  Exhibitions  of  London  and  Paris, 
he  made  brilliant  displays  of  his  wares,  which  did  honor  to  hifc 
country  and  himself,  and  gave  an  impetus  to  the  prosperity  of  the 
men  who  have  grown  rich  upon  his  discoveries.  At  the  London 
Exhibition,  he  had  a  suite  of  three  apartments,  carpeted,  furnished, 
and  decorated  only  with  India-rubber.  At  Paris,  he  made  a 
lavish  display  of  India-rubber  jewelry,  dressing-cases,  work-box- 
es, picture-frames,  which  attracted  great  attention.  His  reward 
was,  a  four  days'  sojourn  in  the  debtors'  prison,  and  the  cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor.  The  delinquency  of  his  American  li- 
censees procured  him  the  former,  and  the  favor  of  the  Emperor 
the  latter. 

We  have  seen  that  his  introduction  to  India-rubber  was 
through  the  medium  of  a  life-preserver.  His  last  labors,  also, 
were  consecrated  to  life-saving  apparatus,  of  which  he  invented 
or  suggested  a  great  variety.  His  excellent  wife  was  reading 
to  him  one  evening,  in  London,  an  article  from  a  review,  in 
which  it  was  stated  that  twenty  persons  perished  by  drowning 
every  hour.  The  company,  startled  at  a  statement  so  unex- 
pected, conversed  upon  it  for  some  time,  while  Mr.  Goodyeai 
jimself  remained  silent  and  thoughtful.  For  several  nights  ha 
rfras  restless,  as  was  usually  the  case  with  him  when  he  was  med- 
iating a  new  application  of  his  material.  As  these  periods  of 
incubation  were  usually  followed  by  a  prostrating  sickness,  his 
wife  urged  him  to  forbear,  and  endeavor  to  compose  his  mind 
to  sleep.  "  Sleep  ! "  said  he,  "  how  can  I  sleep  while  twenty 
human  beings  are  drowning  every  hour,  and  I  am  the  man  who 
can  save  them  ?  "  It  was  long  his  endeavor  to  invent  some  ar- 
ticle which  every  man,  woman,  and  child  would  necessarily 
wear,  and  which  would  muk?  it  impossible  for  them  to  sink 


344  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

He  experimented  with  hats,  cravats,  jackets,  and  petticoats 
and,  though  he  left  his  principal  object  incomplete,  he  contrived 
many  of  those  means  of  saving  life  which  now  puzzle  the  oc- 
cupants of  state-rooms.  He  had  the  idea  that  every  article  on 
board  a  vessel  seizable  in  the  moment  of  danger,  every  chair, 
table,  sofa,  and  stool,  should  be  a  life-preserver. 

He  returned  to  his  native  land  a  melancholy  spectacle  to  his 
friends,  —  yellow,  emaciated,  and  feeble,  —  but  still  devoted  to 
his  work.  He  lingered  and  labored  until  July,  1860,  when  he 
died  in  New  York,  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age.  Almost  to 
the  last  day  of  his  life  he  was  busy  with  new  applications  of  his 
discovery.  After  twenty-seven  years  of  labor  and  investigation, 
after  having  founded  a  new  branch  of  industry,  which  gave  em- 
ployment to  sixty  thousand  persons,  he  died  insolvent,  leaving 
to  a  wife  and  six  children  only  an  inheritance  of  debt.  Those 
who  censure  him  for  this  should  consider  that  his  discovery  was 
not  profitable  to  himself  for  more  than  ten  years,  that  he  was 
deeply  in  debt  when  he  began  his  experiments,  that  his  investi- 
gations could  be  carried  on  only  by  increasing  his  indebtedness, 
that  all  his  bargains  were  those  of  a  man  in  need,  that  the  guile- 
lessness  of  his  nature  made  him  the  easy  prey  of  greedy,  dishon- 
orable men,  and  that  his  neglect  of  his  private  interests  was  due, 
in  part,  to  his  zeal  for  the  public  good. 

Dr.  Dutton  of  New  Haven,  his  pastor  and  friend,  in  the  Ser- 
jfton  dedicated  to  his  memory,  did  not  exaggerate  when  he  spoke 
of  him  as 

"  one  who  recognized  his  peculiar  endowment  of  inventive  genius  as 
a  divine  gift,  involving  a  special  and  defined  responsibility,  and  consid- 
ered himself  called  of  God,  as  was  Bezaleel,  to  that  particular  course 
of  invention  to  which  he  devoted  the  chief  part  of  his  life.  This  he 
often  expressed,  though  with  his  characteristic  modesty,  to  his  friends, 
especially  his  religious  friends His  inventive  work  was  his  re- 
ligion, and  was  pervaded  and  animated  by  religious  faith,and  devotion. 
He  felt  like  an  apostle  commissioned  for  that  work ;  and  he  said  to  hia 
niece  and  her  husband,  who  went,  with  his  approbation  and  sympathy, 
as  missionaries  of  the  Gospel  to  Asia,  that  he  was  God's  missionary  as 
truly  as  they  were." 

Nothing  more  true.     The  demand  for  the  raw  gum,  almost 


CHABLES   GOODYEAK.  345 

created  by  him,  u  introducing  abundance  and  developing  in- 
dustry in  the  regions  which  produce  it.  As  the  culture  of  cot- 
ton seems  the  predestined  means  of  improving  Africa,  so  the 
gathering  of  caoutchouc  may  procure  for  the  inhabitants  of  the 
equatorial  regions  of  both  continents  such  of  the  blessings  of 
civilization  as  they  are  capable  of  appropriating. 

An  attempt  was  made  last  winter  to  procure  an  act  of  Con- 
gress extending  the  vulcanizing  patent  for  a  further  period  of 
seven  years,  for  the  benefit  of  the  creditors  and  the  family  of  the 
inventor.  The  petition  seemed  reasonable.  The  very  low  tariff 
paid  by  the  manufacturers  could  have  no  perceptible  effect  upon 
the  price  of  articles,  and  the  extension  would  provide  a  compe- 
tence for  a  worthy  family  who  had  claims  upon  the  gratitude  of 
the  nation,  if  not  upon  its  justice.  The  manufacturers  generally 
favored  the  extension,  since  the  patent  protected  them,  in  the 
deranged  condition  of  our  currency,  from  the  competition  of  the 
foreign  manufacturer,  who  pays  low  wages  and  enjoys  a  sound 
currency.  The  extension  of  the  patent  would  have  harmed  no 
one,  and  would  have  been  an  advantage  to  the  general  interests 
of  the  trade.  The  son  of  the  inventor,  too,  in  whose  name  the 
petition  was  offered,  had  spent  his  whole  life  in  assisting  his 
father,  and  had  a  fair  claim  upon  the  consideration  of  Congress. 
But  the  same  unscrupulous  and  remorseless  men  who  had  plun- 
dered poor  Goodyear  living,  hastened  to  Washington  to  oppose 
the  petition  of  his  family.  A  cry  of "  monopoly  "  was  raised  in 
the  newspapers  to  which  they  had  access.  The  presence  in 
Washington  of  Mrs.  Goodyear,  one  of  the  most  retiring  of  women, 
and  of  her  son,  a  singularly  modest  young  man,  who  were  aided 
by  one  friend  and  one  professional  agent,  was  denounced  as  "  a 
powerful  lobby,  male  and  female,"  who,  having  despoiled  the 
public  of  "  twenty  millions,"  were  boring  Congress  for  a  grant  of 
twenty  millions  more,  —  all  to  be  wrung  from  an  India-rubber- 
consuming  public.  The  short  session  of  Congress  is  unfavorable 
to  private  bills,  even  when  they  are  unopposed.  These  arts 
sufficed  to  prevent  the  introduction  of  the  bill  desired,  and  the 
patent  has  since  expired. 

The  immense  increase  in  the  demand  for  the  gum  has  fre» 
15* 


346  CHARLES   GOODYEAR. 

quently  suggested  the  inquiry  whether  there  is  any  danger  of 
the  supply  becoming  unequal  to  it.  There  are  now  in  Europe 
and  America  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  manufactories  of 
India-rubber  articles,  employing  from  five  to  five  hundred  opera- 
tives each,  and  consuming  more  than  ten  millions  of  pounds  of  gum 
per  annum.  The  business,  too,  is  considered  to  be  still  in  its  infan- 
cy. Certainly,  it  is  increasing.  Nevertheless,  there  is  no  possibility 
of  the  demand  exceeding  the  supply.  The  belt  of  land  round  the 
globe,  five  hundred  miles  north  and  five  hundred  miles  south  of 
the  equator,  abounds  in  the  trees  producing  the  gum,  and  they  can 
be  tapped,  it  is  said,  for  twenty  successive  seasons.  Forty-three 
thousand  of  these  trees  were  counted  in  a  tract  of  country  thirty 
miles  long  and  eight  wide.  Each  tree  yields  an  average  of  three 
table-spoonfuls  of  sap  daily,  but  the  trees  are  so  close  together 
that  one  man  can  gather  the  sap  of  eighty  in  a  day.  Starting  at 
daylight,  with  his  tomahawk  and  a  ball  of  clay,  he  goes  from  tree 
to  tree,  making  five  or  six  incisions  in  each,  and  placing  under 
each  incision  a  cup  made  of  the  clay  which  he  carries.  In  three 
or  four  hours  he  has  completed  his  circuit  and  comes  home  to 
breakfast.  In  the  afternoon  he  slings  a  large  gourd  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  repeats  his  round  to  collect  the  sap.  The  cups  are 
covered  up  at  the  roots  of  the  tree,  to  be  used  again  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  In  other  regions  the  sap  is  allowed  to  exude  from 
the  tree,  and  is  gathered  from  about  the  roots.  But,  however  it 
is  collected,  the  supply  is  superabundant;  and  the  countries  which 
produce  it  are  those  in  which  the  laborer  needs  only  a  little  tapi- 
oca, a  little  coffee,  a  hut,  and  an  apron.  In  South  America,  from 
which  our  supply  chiefly  comes,  the  natives  subsist  at  an  expense 
of  three  cents  a  day.  The  present  high  price  of  the  gum  in  the 
United  States  is  principally  due  to  the  fact  that  greenbacks  are 
not  current  in  the  tropics ;  but  in  part,  to  the  rapidity  with  which 
the  demand  has  increased.  Several  important  applications  of  the 
vulcanized  gum  have  been  deferred  to  the  time  when  the  raw 
material  shall  have  fallen  to  what  Adam  Smith  would  style  its 
"  natural  price." 

Charles  Goodyear's  work,  therefore,  is  a  permanent  addition 
to  the  resources  of  man.  The  latest  posterity  will  be  indebted  to 
him. 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER 

AND   HIS   CHUECH. 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER   AND  HIS 
CHURCH. 

IS  there  anything  in  America  more  peculiar  to  America,  or 
more  curious  in  itself,  than  one  of  our  "  fashionable  "  Protes- 
tant churches,  —  such  as  we  see  in  New  York,  on  the  Fifth  Ave- 
nue and  in  the  adjacent  streets  ?  The  lion  and  the  lamb  in  the 
Millennium  will  not  lie  down  together  more  lovingly  than  the 
Church  and  the  World  have  blended  in  these  singular  establish- 
ments. We  are  far  from  objecting  to  the  coalition,  but  note  it  only 
as  something  curious,  new,  and  interesting. 

We  enter  an  edifice,  upon  the  interior  of  which  the  upholsterer 
and  the  cabinet-maker  have  exhausted  the  resources  of  their 
trades.  The  word  "  subdued  "  describes  the  effect  at  which  those 
artists  have  aimed.  The  woods  employed  are  costly  and  rich,  but 
usually  of  a  sombre  hue,  and,  though  elaborately  carved,  are  fre- 
quently unpolished.  The  light  which  comes  through  the  stained 
windows,  or  through  the  small  diamond  panes,  is  of  that  descrip- 
tion which  is  eminently  the  "  dim,  religious."  Every  part  of  the 
floor  is  thickly  carpeted.  The  pews  differ  little  from  sofas,  except 
in  being  more  comfortable,  and  the  cushions  for  the  feet  or  the 
knees  are  as  soft  as  hair  and  cloth  can  make  them.  It  is  a  fash- 
ion, at  present,  to  put  the  organ  out  of  sight,  and  to  have  a  clock 
so  unobtrusive  as  not  to  be  observed.  Galleries  are  now  viewed 
with  an  unfriendly  eye  by  the  projectors  of  churches,  and  they 
are  going  out  of  use.  Everything  in  the  way  of  conspicuous 
lighting  apparatus,  such  as  the  gorgeous  and  dazzling  chandeliers 
of  fifteen  years  ago,  and  the  translucent  globes  of  later  date,  is 
discarded,  and  an  attempt  is  sometimes  made  to  hide  the  vulgar 
fact  that  the  church  is  ever  open  in  the  evening.  In  a  word 
the  design  of  the  fashionable  church-builder  of  the  present  mo« 


350  HENRY  WARD   BEECHER 

ment  is  to  produce  a  richly  furnished,  quietly  adorned,  dimly  il- 
luminated, ecclesiastical  parlor,  in  which  a  few  hundred  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  attired  in  kindred  taste,  may  sit  perfectly  at  their 
ease,  and  see  no  object  not  in  harmony  with  the  scene  around 
them. 

To  say  that  the  object  of  these  costly  and  elegant  arrange- 
ments is  to  repel  poor  people  would  be  a  calumny.  On  the  con- 
trary, persons  who  show  by  their  dress  and  air  that  they  exercise 
the  less  remunerative  vocations  are  as  politely  shown  to  seats  as 
those  who  roll  up  to  the  door  in  carriages,  and  the  presence  of 
such  persons  is  desired,  and,  in  many  instances,  systematically 
sought.  Nevertheless,  the  poor  are  repelled.  They  know  they 
cannot  pay  their  proportion  of  the  expense  of  maintaining  such 
establishments,  and  they  do  not  wish  to  enjoy  what  others  pay 
for.  Everything  in  and  around  the  church  seems  to  proclaim  it 
a  kind  of  exclusive  ecclesiastical  club,  designed  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  persons  of  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  upward, 
Or  it  is  as  though  the  carriages  on  the  Road  to  Heaven  were  di- 
vided into  first-class,  second-class,  and  third-class,  and  a  man 
either  takes  the  one  that  accords  with  his  means,  or  denies  him- 
self the  advantage  of  travelling  that  road,  or  prefers  to  trudge 
along  on  foot,  an  independent  wayfarer. 

It  is  Sunday  morning,  and  the  doors  of  this  beautiful  drawing- 
room  are  thrown  open.  Ladies  dressed  with  subdued  magnifi- 
cence glide  in,  along  with  some  who  have  not  been  able  to  leave 
at  home  the  showier  articles  of  their  wardrobe.  Black  silk,  black 
velvet,  black  lace,  relieved  by  intimations  of  brighter  colors,  and 
by  gleams  from  half-hidden  jewelry,  are  the  materials  most  em- 
ployed. Gentlemen  in  uniform  of  black  cloth  and  white  linen 
announce  their  coming  by  the  creaking  of  their  boots,  quenched 
in  the  padded  carpeting.  It  cannot  be  said  of  these  churches,  as 
Mr.  Carlyle  remarked  of  certain  London  ones,  that  a  pistol  could 
3e  fired  into  a  window  across  the  church  without  much  danger  of 
hitting  a  Christian.  The  attendance  is  not  generally  very  large ; 
but  as  the  audience  is  evenly  distributed  over  the  whole  suiface, 
it  looks  larger  than  it  is.  In  a  commercial  city  everything  is  apt 
k  be  measured  by  the  commercial  standard,  and  accordingly  a 


AND  mS   CHURCH.  351 

thurch  numerically  weak,  but  financially  strong,  ranks,  in  the  es- 
timation of  the  town,  not  according  to  its  number  of  souls,  but  its 
number  of  dollars.  We  heard  a  fine  young  fellow,  last  summer, 
full  of  zeal  for  everything  high  and  good,  conclude  a  glowing  ac- 
count of  a  sermon  by  saying  that  it  was  the  direct  means  of  add- 
ing to  the  church  a  capital  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  thou- 
sand dollars.  He  meant  nothing  low  or  mercenary  ;  he  honestly 
exulted  in  the  fact  that  the  power  and  influence  attached  to  the 
possession  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  were 
thenceforward  to  be  exerted  on  behalf  of  objects  which  he  es- 
teemed the  highest.  If  therefore  the  church  before  our  view  can- 
not boast  of  a  numerous  attendance,  it  more  than  consoles  itself 
by  the  reflection,  that  there  are  a  dozen  names  of  talismanic 
power  in  Wall  Street  on  its  list  of  members. 

"  But  suppose  the  Doctor  should  leave  you  ?  "  objected  a  friend 
of  ours  to  a  trustee,  who  had  been  urging  him  to  buy  a  pew  in  a 
fashionable  church. 

"  Well,  my  dear  sir,"  was  the  business-like  reply ;  "  suppose 
he  should.  We  should  immediately  engage  the  very  first  talent 
which  money  can  command." 

We  can  hardly  help  taking  this  simple  view  of  things  in  rich 
commercial  cities.  Our  worthy  trustee  merely  put  the  thing  on 
the  correct  basis.  He  frankly  said  what  every  church  does,  ought 
to  do,  and  must  do.  He  stated  a  universal  fact  in  the  plain  and 
sensible  language  to  which  he  was  accustomed.  In  the  same  way 
these  business-like  Christians  have  borrowed  the  language  of  the 
Church,  and  speak  of  men  who  are  "  good  "  for  a  million. 

The  congregation  is  assembled.  The  low  mumble  of  the  organ 
ceases.  A  female  voice  rises  melodiously  above  the  rustle  of 
dry-goods  and  the  whispers  of  those  who  wear  them.  So  sweet 
and  powerful  is  it,  that  a  stranger  might  almost  suppose  it  bor- 
rowed from  the  choir  of  heaven ;  but  the  inhabitants  of  the  town 
recognize  it  as  one  they  have  often  heard  at  concerts  or  at  the 
opera ;  and  they  listen  critically,  as  to  a  professional  performance, 
which  it  is.  It  is  well  that  highly  artificial  singing  prevents 
the  hearer  from  catching  the  words  of  the  song ;  for  it  would 
have  rather  an  odd  effect  to  hear  rendered,  in  the  modern  Italian 
style,  such  plain  straightforward  words  as  these :  — 


352  HEXBY  WABD  BEECHES 

u  Gam  annas  hope  far  hearcn 

Who  tore  this  irorid  so  weD? 
Or  dram  of  future  happiness 
White  on  the  road  to  beU?  " 

The  performance,  however,  is  so  exquisite  that  we  do  not  think 
of  these  things,  bat  listen  in  rapture  to  the  voice  alone.  When 
the  lady  has  finished  her  stanza,  a  noble  barytone,  also  recognized 
as  professional,  takes  up  the  strain,  and  performs  a  stanza,  solo ; 
at  the  conclusion  of  which,  four  voices,  in  enchanting  accord 
breathe  out  a  thud.  It  is  evident  that  the  "first  talent  that 
money  can  command0  has  been  "engaged"  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  congregation ;  and  we  are  not  surprised  when  the  informa- 
tion is  proudly  communicated  that  the  music  costs  a  hundred  and 
twenty  dollars  per  Sunday. 

What  is  very  surprising  and  well  worthy  of  consideration  is, 
that  this  beautiful  music  does  not "  draw."  In  our  rovings  about 
among  the  noted  churches  of  New  York,  —  of  the  kind  which 
*  engage  the  first  talent  that  money  can  command,"  —  we  could 
never  see  that  the  audience  was  much  increased'by  expensive 
professional  music.  On  the  contrary,  we  can  lay  it  down  as  a 
general  rule,  that  the  costlier  the  music,  the  smaller  is  the  aver- 
age attendance.  The  afternoon  service  at  Trinity  Church,  for 
example,  is  little  more  than  a  delightful  gratuitous  concert  of 
boys,  men,  and  organ ;  and  the  spectacle  of  the  altar  brilliantly 
lighted  by  candles  is  novel  and  highly  picturesque.  The  sermon 
also  is  of  the  fashionable  length,  —  twenty  minutes ;  and  yet  the 
usual  afternoon  congregation  is  about  two  hundred  persons. 
Those  celestial  strains  of  music,  —  weD,  they  enchant  the  ear, 
if  the  ear  happens  to  be  within  hearing  of  them ;  but  somehow 
they  do  not  furnish  a  continuous  attraction. 

When  this  fine  prelude  is  ended,  the  minister's  part  begins ; 
and,  unless  he  is  a  man  of  extraordinary  bearing  and  talents, 
every  one  present  is  conscious  of  a  kind  of  lapse  in  the  tone  of 
the  occasion.  Genius  composed  the  music;  the  "first  talent" 
executed  it ;  the  performance  has  thrilled  the  soul,  and  exalted 
expectation ;  but  the  voice  now  heard  may  be  ordinary,  and  the 
words  uttered  may  be  homely,  or  even  common.  No  one  unao- 


AND  HIS  CHUBCa  353 

customed  to  the  place  can  help  feeling  a  certain  incongruity  be- 
tween the  language  heard  and  the  scene  witnessed.  Everything 
we  see  is  modern ;  the  words  we  hear  are  ancient.  The  preacher 
speaks  of  "  humble  believers,"  and  we  look  around  and  ask, 
Where  are  they  ?  Are  these  costly  and  elegant  persons  humble 
believers  ?  Far  be  it  from  us  to  intimate  that  they  are  not ;  we 
are  sneaking  only  of  their  appearance,  and  its  effect  upon  a  cas 
ual  beholder.  The  clergyman  reads, 

"  Come  let  vi  join  in  sweet  accord," 

and  straightway  four  hired  performers  execute  a  piece  of  difficult 
music  to  an  audience  sitting  passive.  He  discourses  upon  the 
"  pleasures  of  the  world,"  as  being  at  war  with  the  interests  of 
the  soul ;  and  while  a  severe  sentence  to  this  effect  is  coining 
from  his  lips,  down  the  aisle  marches  the  sexton,  showing  some 
stranger  to  a  seat,  who  is  a  professional  master  of  the  revels.  He 
expresses,  perchance,  a  fervent  desire  that  the  heathen  may  be 
converted  to  Christianity,  and  we  catch  ourselves  saying,  "  Does 
he  mean  tfris  sort  of  thing  ?  "  "When  we  pronounce  the  word 
Christianity,  it  calls  up  recollections  and  associations  that  do  not 
exactly  harmonize  with  the  scene  around  us.  We  think  rather 
of  the  fishermen  of  Palestine,  on  the  lonely  sea-shore ;  of  the 
hunted  fugitives  of  Italy  and  Scotland ;  we  think  of  it  as  some- 
thing lowly,  and  suited  to  the  lowly,  —  a  refuge  for  the  forsaken 
and  the  defeated,  not  the  luxury  of  the  rich  and  the  ornament  of 
the  strong.  It  may  be  an  infirmity  of  our  mind;  but  we  experi- 
ence a  certain  difficulty  in  realizing  that  the  sumptuous  and  costly 
apparatus  around  u.s  has  anything  in  common  with  what  we  have 
been  accustomed  to  think  of  as  Christianity. 

Sometimes,  the  incongruity  reaches  the  point  of  the  ludicrous. 
We  recently  heard  a  very  able  and  well-intentioned  preacher, 
near  the  Fifth  Avenue,  ask  the  ladies  before  him  whether  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  speaking  to  their  female  attendants  about 
their  souls'  salvation,  —  particularly  those  who  dressed  their  hair 
He  especially  mentioned  the  hair-dressers ;  because,  as  he  truly 
remarked,  ladies  are  accustomed  to  converse  with  those  artiste*, 
iuring  the  operation  of  hair-dressing,  on  a  variety  of  topice ;  and 


354  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER 

the  opportunity  was  excellent  to  say  a  word  on  the  one  most  ini 
portant.  This  incident  perfectly  illustrates  what  we  mean  by  the 
seeming  incongruity  between  the  ancient  cast  of  doctrine  and  the 
modernized  people  to  whom  it  is  preached.  We  have  heard  ser- 
mons in  fashionable  churches  in  New  York,  laboriously  prepared 
and  earnestly  read,  which  had  nothing  in  them  of  the  modern 
spirit,  contained  not  the  most  distant  allusion  to  modern  modes  of 
living  and  sinning,  had  no  suitableness  whatever  to  the  people  or 
the  time,  and  from  which  everything  that  could  rouse  or  interest 
a  human  soul  living  on  Manhattan  Island  in  the  year  1867 
seemed  to  have  been  purposely  pruned  away.  And  perhaps,  if  a 
clergyman  really  has  no  message  to  deliver,  his  best  course  is  to 
utter  a  jargon  of  nothings. 

Upon  the  whole,  the  impression  left  upon  the  mind  of  the  visit- 
or to  the  fashionable  church  is,  that  he  has  been  looking,  not 
upon  a  living  body,  but  a  decorated  image. 

It  may  be,  however,  that  the  old  conception  of  a  Christian 
church,  as  the  one  place  where  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men 
came  together  to  dwell  upon  considerations  interesting  to  all 
equally,  is  not  adapted  to  modern  society,  wherein  one  man  dif- 
fers from  another  in  knowledge  even  more  than  a  king  once  dif- 
fered from  a  peasant  in  rank.  When  all  were  ignorant,  a  mass 
chanted  in  an  unknown  tongue,  and  a  short  address  warning 
against  the  only  vices  known  to  ignorant  people,  sufficed  for  the 
whole  community.  But  what  form  of  service  can  be  even 
imagined,  that  could  satisfy  Bridget,  who  cannot  read,  and  her 
mistress,  who  comes  to  church  cloyed  with  the  dainties  of  half  a 
dozen  literatures  ?  Who  could  preach  a  sermon  that  would  hold 
attentive  the  man  saturated  with  Buckle,  Mill,  Spencer,  Thacke- 
ray, Emerson,  Humboldt,  and  Agassiz,  and  the  man  whose  only 
literary  recreation  is  the  dime  novel  ?  In  the  good  old  times, 
when  terror  was  latent  in  every  soul,  and  the  preacher  had  only 
to  deliver  a  very  simple  message,  pointing  out  the  one  way  to 
escape  endless  torture,  a  very  ordinary  mortal  could  arrest  and 
retain  attention.  But  this  resource  is  gone  forever,  and  the  mod- 
ern preacher  is  thrown  upon  the  resources  of  his  own  mind  and 
talent  There  is  great  difficulty  here,  and  it  does  not  seem  likely 


AND  HIS  CHURCH.  355 

U?  diminish,  It  may  be,  that  never  again,  as  long  as  time  shall 
endure,  will  ignorant  and  learned,  masters  and  servants,  poor  and 
rich,  feel  themselves  at  hqme  in  the  same  church. 

At  present  we  are  impressed,  and  often  oppressed,  with  the  too 
evident  fact,  that  neither  the  intelligent  nor  the  uninstructed  souls 
are  so  well  ministered  to,  in  things  spiritual,  as  we  could  imagine 
they  might  be.  The  fashionable  world  of  New  York  goes  to 
church  every  Sunday  morning  with  tolerable  punctuality,  and  yet 
it  seems  to  drift  rapidly  toward  Paris.  What  it  usually  hears  at 
church  does  not  appear  to  exercise  controlling  influence  over  its 
conduct  or  its  character. 

Among  the  churches  about  New  York  to  which  nothing  we 
have  said  applies,  the  one  that  presents  the  strongest  contrast  to 
the  fashionable  church  is  Henry  Ward  Beecher's.  Some  of  the 
difficulties  resulting  from  the  altered  state  of  opinion  in  recent 
times  have  been  overcome  there,  and  an  institution  has  been 
created  which  appears  to  be  adapted  to  the  needs,  as  well  as  to 
the  tastes,  of  the  people  frequenting  it.  We  can  at  least  say  of 
it,  that  it  is  a  living  body,  and  not  a  decorated  image. 

For  many  years,  this  church  upon  Brooklyn  Heights  has  been, 
to  the  best  of  the  visitors  to  the  metropolis,  the  most  interesting 
object  in  or  near  it.  Of  Brooklyn  itself,  —  a  great  assemblage  of 
residences,  without  much  business  or  stir,  —  it  seems  the  animat- 
ing soul.  We  have  a  fancy,  that  we  can  tell  by  the  manner  and 
bearing  of  an  inhabitant  of  the  place  whether  he  attends  this 
church  or  not ;  for  there  is  a  certain  joyousness,  candor,  and  dem- 
ocratic simplicity  about  the  members  of  that  congregation,  which 
might  be  styled  Beecherian,  if  there  were  not  a  better  word. 
This  church  is  simply  the  most  characteristic  thing  of  America. 
If  we  had  a  foreigner  in  charge  to  whom  we  wished  to  reveal 
this  country,  we  should  like  to  push  him  in,  hand  him  over  to 
one  of  the  brethren  who  perform  the  arduous  duty  of  providing 
seats  for  visitors,  and  say  to  him :  "  There,  stranger,  you  have 
arrived ;  this  is  the  United  States.  The  New  Testament,  Plym- 
outh Rock,  and  the  Fourth  of  July,  —  this  is  what  they  have 
brought  us  to.  What  the  next  issue  will  be,  no  one  can  tell ;  but 
this  is  about  what  we  are  at  present." 


S56  HENRY   WARD   BEECHEB 

"We  cannot  imagine  what  the  brethren  could  have  been  think- 
ing about  when  they  ordered  the  new  bell  that  hangs  in  the  tower 
of  Plymouth  Church.  It  is  the  most  superfluous  article  in  the 
known  world.  The  New-Yorker  who  steps  on  board  the  Fulton 
ferry-boat  about  ten  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  finds  himself 
accompanied  by  a  large  crowd  of  people  who  bear  the  visible 
stamp  of  strangers,  who  are  going  to  Henry  Ward  Beecher's 
church.  You  can  pick  them  out  with  perfect  certainty.  You 
see  the  fact  in  their  countenances,  in  their  dress,  in  their  demean- 
or, as  well  as  hear  it  in  words  of  eager  expectation.  They  are 
the  kind  of  people  who  regard  wearing-apparel  somewhat  in  the 
light  of  its  utility,  and  are  not  crushed  by  their  clothes.  They 
are  the  sort  of  people  who  take  the  "  Tribune,"  and  get  up  courses 
of  lectures  in  the  country  towns.  From  every  quarter  of  Brook- 
lyn, in  street  cars  and  on  foot,  streams  of  people  are  converging 
toward  the  same  place.  Every  Sunday  morning  and  evening, 
rain  or  shine,  there  is  the  same  concourse,  the  same  crowd  at  the 
gates  before  they  are  open,  and  the  same  long,  laborious  effort  to 
get  thirty-five  hundred  people  into  a  building  that  will  seat  but 
twenty-seven  hundred.  Besides  the  ten  or  twelve  members  of 
the  church  who  volunteer  to  assist  in  this  labor,  there  is  employed 
a  force  of  six  policemen  at  the  doors,  to  prevent  the  multitude 
from  choking  all  ingress.  Seats  are  retained  for  their  proprietors 
until  ten  minutes  before  the  time  of  beginning;  after  that  the 
strangers  are  admitted.  Mr.  Buckle,  if  he  were  with  us  still, 
would  be  pleased  to  know  that  his  doctrine  of  averages  holds 
good  in  this  instance ;  since  every  Sunday  about  a  churchful  of 
persons  come  to  this  church,  so  that  not  many  who  come  fail  to 
get  in. 

There  is  nothing  of  the  ecclesiastical  drawing-room  in  the  ar- 
rangements of  this  edifice.  It  is  a  very  plain  brick  building,  in 
a  narrow  street  of  small,  pleasant  houses,  and  the  interior  is  only 
striking  from  its  extent  and  convenience.  The  simple,  old-fash- 
ioned design  of  the  builder  was  to  provide  seats  for  as  many  peo- 
ple as  the  space  would  hold ;  and  in  executing  this  design,  he 
constructed  one  of  the  finest  interiors  in  the  country,  since  the 
most  pleasing  and  inspiriting  spectacle  that  human  eyes  ever  be« 


AND   HIS  CHURCH.  357 

hold  in  this  world  is  such  an  assembly  as  fills  this  church.  The 
audience  is  grandly  displayed  in  those  wide,  rounded  galleries, 
surging  up  high  against  the  white  walls,  and  scooped  out  deep  in 
the  slanting  floor,  leaving  the  carpeted  platform  the  vortex  of  an 
arrested  whirlpool.  Often  it  happens  that  two  or  three  little 
children  get  lodged  upon  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  sit  there 
on  the  carpet  among  the  flowers  during  the  service,  giving  to  the 
picture  a  singularly  pleasing  relief,  as  though  they  and  the  bou- 
quets had  been  arranged  by  the  same  skilful  hand,  and  for  the 
same  purpose.  And  it  seems  quite  natural  and  proper  that  child- 
ren should  form  part  of  so  bright  and  joyous  an  occasion.  Behind 
the  platform  rises  to  the  ceiling  the  huge  organ,  of  dark  wood 
and  silvered  pipes,  with  fans  of  trumpets  pointing  heavenward 
from  the  top.  This  enormous  toy  occupies  much  space  that 
could  be  better  filled,  and  is  only  less  superfluous  than  the 
bell ;  but  we  must  pardon  and  indulge  a  foible.  We  could  never 
see  that  Mr.  Forrest  walked  any  better  for  having  such  thick 
legs ;  yet  they  have  their  admirers.  Blind  old  Handel  played 
on  an  instrument  very  different  from  this,  but  the  sexton  had  to 
eat  a  cold  Sunday  dinner ;  for  not  a  Christian  would  stir  as  long 
as  the  old  man  touched  the  keys  after  service.  But  not  old  Han- 
del nor  older  Gabriel  could  make  such  music  as  swells  and  roars 
from  three  thousand  human  voices,  —  the  regular  choir  of  Ply- 
mouth Church.  It  is  a  decisive  proof  of  the  excellence  and  hearti- 
ness of  this  choir,  that  the  great  organ  has  not  lessened  its  effec- 
tiveness. 

It  is  not  clear  to  the  distant  spectator  by  what  aperture  Mr. 
Beecher  enters  the  church.  He  is  suddenly  discovered  to  be 
present,  seated  in  his  place  on  the  platform,  —  an  under-sized 
gentleman  in  a  black  stock.  His  hair  combed  behind  his  ears, 
and  worn  a  little  longer  than  usual,  imparts  to  his  appearance 
something  of  the  Puritan,  and  calls  to  mind  his  father,  the  cham- 
pion of  orthodoxy  in  heretical  Boston.  In  conducting  the  opening 
exercises,  and,  indeed,  on  all  occasions  of  ceremony,  Mr.  Beecher 
shows  himself  an  artist,  —  both  his  language  and  his  demeanor 
being  marked  by  the  most  refined  decorum.  An  elegant,  finished 
simplicity  characterizes  all  he  does  and  says :  not  a  word  too 


358  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER 

much,  nor  a  word  misused,  nor  a  word  waited  for,  nor  an  unhar« 
monious  movement,  mars  the  satisfaction  of  the  auditor.  The 
habit  of  living  for  thirty  years  in  the  view  of  a  multitude,  togeth 
er  with  a  natural  sense  of  the  becoming,  and  a  quick  sympathy 
with  men  and  circumstances,  has  wrought  up  his  public  demeanor 
to  a  point  near  perfection.  A  candidate  for  public  honors  could 
not  study  a  better  model.  This  is  the  more  remarkable,  because 
it  is  a  purely  spiritual  triumph.  Mr.  Beecher's  person  is  not  im- 
posing, nor  his  natural  manner  graceful.  It  is  his  complete  ex- 
tirpation of  the  desire  of  producing  an  illegitimate  effect ;  it  is 
his  sincerity  and  genuineness  as  a  human  being ;  it  is  the  dignity 
of  his  character,  and  his  command  of  his  powers,  —  which  give 
him  this  easy  mastery  over  every  situation  in  which  he  finds  him- 
self. 

Extempore  prayers  are  not,  perhaps,  a  proper  subject  for 
comment.  The  grand  feature  of  the  preliminary  services  of 
this  church  is  the  singing,  which  is  not  executed  by  the  first 
talent  that  money  can  command.  When  the  prelude  upon  the 
organ  is  finished,  the  whole  congregation,  almost  every  individual 
in  it,  as  if  by  a  spontaneous  and  irresistible  impulse,  stands  up 
and  sings.  We  are  not  aware  that  anything  has  ever  been  done 
or  said  to  bring  about  this  result ;  nor  does  the  minister  of  the 
church  set  the  example,  for  he  usually  remains  sitting  and  silent. 
It  seems  as  if  every  one  in  the  congregation  was  so  full  of  some- 
thing that  he  felt  impelled  to  get  up  and  sing  it  out.  In  other 
churches  where  congregational  singing  is  attempted,  there  are 
usually  a  number  of  languid  Christians  who  remain  seated,  and 
a  large  number  of  others  who  remain  silent ;  but  here  there  is 
a  strange  unanimity  about  the  performance.  A  sailor  might  as 
well  try  not  to  join  in  the  chorus  of  a  forecastle  song  as  a  mem- 
ber of  this  joyous  host  not  to  sing  When  the  last  preliminary 
singing  is  concluded,  the  audience  is  in  an  excellent  condition  to 
eit  and  listen,  their  whole  corporeal  system  having  been  pleasant- 
ly exercised. 

The  sermon  which  follows  is  new  wine  in  an  old  bottle.  Up 
to  the  moment  when  the  text  has  been  announced  and  briefly 
explained,  the  service  has  all  been  conducted  upon  the  ancient 


AND  HIS   CHURCH.  359 

and  chiefly  in  the  ancient  phraseology ;  but  from  the 
moment  when  Mr.  Beecher  swings  free  from  the  moorings  of  his 
text,  and  gets  fairly  under  way,  his  sermon  is  modern.  No 
matter  how  fervently  he  may  have  been  praying  supernaturalism, 
he  preaches  pure  cause  and  effect.  His  text  may  savor  of  old 
Palestine;  but  his  sermon  is  inspired  by  New  York  and  Brook- 
lyn ;  and  nearly  all  that  he  says,  when  he  is  most  himself,  finds 
an  approving  response  in  the  mind  of  every  well-disposed  person, 
whether  orthodox  or  heterodox  in  his  creed. 

What  is  religion  ?  That,  of  course,  is  the  great  question.  Mr. 
Beecher  says:  Religion  is  the  slow,  laborious,  self-conducted 
EDUCATION  of  the  whole  man,  from  grossness  to  refinement,  from 
sickliness  to  health,  from  ignorance  to  knowledge,  from  selfishness 
to  justice,  from  justice  to  nobleness,  from  cowardice  to  valor.  In 
treating  this  topic,  whatever  he  may  pray  or  read  or  assent  to, 
he  preaches  cause  and  effect,  and  nothing  else.  Regeneration  he 
does  not  represent  to  be  some  mysterious,  miraculous  influence  ex- 
erted upon  a  man  from  without,  but  the  man's  own  act,  wholly  and 
always,  and  in  every  stage  of  its  progress.  His  general  way  of 
discoursing  upon  this  subject  would  satisfy  the  most  rationalized 
mind ;  and  yet  it  does  not  appear  to  offend  the  most  orthodox. 

This  apparent  contradiction  between  the  spirit  of  his  preaching 
and  the  facts  of  his  position  is  a  severe  puzzle  to  some  of  our 
thorough-going  friends.  They  ask,  How  can  a  man  demonstrate 
that  the  fall  of  rain  is  so  governed  by  unchanging  laws  that  the 
shower  of  yesterday  dates  back  in  its  causes  to  the  origin  of 
things,  and,  having  proved  this  to  the  comprehension  of  every 
soul  present,  finish  by  praying  for  an  immediate  outpouring  upon 
the  thirsty  fields  ?  "We  confess  that,  to  our  modern  way  of  think- 
ing, there  is  a  contradiction  here,  but  there  is  none  at  all  to  an 
heir  of  the  Puritans.  We  reply  to  our  impatient  young  friends, 
that  Henry  Ward  Beecher  at  once  represents  and  assists  the 
American  Christian  of  the  present  time,  just  because  of  this 
seeming  contradiction.  He  is  a  bridge  over  which  we  are  pass- 
ing from  the  creed-enslaved  past  to  the  perfect  freedom  of  the 
future.  Mr.  Lecky,  in  his  "  History  of  the  Spirit  of  Rational- 
ism," has  shown  the  process  by  which  truth  is  advanced.  Old 


HENRY   WARD  BEECHER 

errors,  he  says,  do  not  die  because  they  are  refuted,  but  fade  ow 
because  they  are  neglected.  One  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago. 
our  ancestors  were  perplexed,  and  even  distressed,  by  something 
they  called  the  doctrine  of  Original  Sin.  No  one  now  concerns 
himself  either  to  refute  or  assert  the  doctrine  ;  few  people  know 
what  it  is ;  we  all  simply  let  it  alone,  and  it  fades  out.  John 
Wesley  not  merely  believed  in  witchcraft,  but  maintained  that  a 
belief  in  witchcraft  was  essential  to  salvation.  All  the  world, 
except  here  and  there  an  enlightened  and  fearless  person,  be- 
lieved in  witchcraft  as  late  as  the  year  1750.  That  belief  has 
not  perished  because  its  folly  was  demonstrated,  but  because  the 
average  human  mind  grew  past  it,  and  let  it  alone  until  it  faded 
out  in  the  distance.  Or  we  might  compare  the  great  body  of 
beliefs  to  a  banquet,  in  which  every  one  takes  what  he  likes  best ; 
and  the  master  of  the  feast,  observing  what  is  most  in  demand, 
keeps  an  abundant  supply  of  such  viands,  but  gradually  with- 
draws those  which  are  neglected.  Mr.  Beecher  has  helped  him- 
self to  such  beliefs  as  are  congenial  to  him,  and  shows  an  exqui- 
site tact  in  passing  by  those  which  interest  him  not,  and  which 
have  lost  regenerating  power.  There  are  minds  which  cannot  be 
content  with  anything  like  vagueness  or  inconsistency  in  their 
opinions.  They  must  know  to  a  certainty  whether  the  sun  and 
moon  stood  still  or  not.  His  is  not  a  mind  of  that  cast ;  he  can 
"  hover  on  the  confines  of  truth,"  and  leave  the  less  inviting  parts 
of  the  landscape  veiled  in  mist  unexplored.  Indeed,  the  great 
aim  of  his  preaching  is  to  show  the  insignificance  of  opinion  com- 
pared with  right  feeling  and  noble  living,  and  he  prepares  the 
way  for  the  time  when  every  conceivable  latitude  of  mere  opinion 
shall  be  allowed  and  encouraged. 

One  remarkable  thing  about  his  preaching  is,  that  he  has  not, 
like  so  many  men  of  liberal  tendencies,  fallen  into  milk-and- 
waterism.  He  often  gives  a  foretaste  of  the  terrific  power 
which  preachers  will  wield  when  they  draw  inspiration  from 
science  and  life.  Without  ever  frightening 'people  with  horrid 
pictures  of  the  future,  he  has  a  sense  of  the  perils  which  beset 
human  life  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time.  How  need- 
les to  draw  upon  the  imagination,  in  depicting  the  consequencea 


AND  HIS  CHURCH.  361 

of  violating  natural  law !  Suppose  a  preacher  should  give  a 
plain,  cold,  scientific  exhibition  of  the  penalty  which  Nature 
exacts  for  the  crime,  so  common  among  church-going  ladies  and 
others,  of  murdering  their  unborn  offspring!  It  would  appall 
the  Devil.  Scarcely  less  terrible  are  the  consequences  of  the 
most  common  vices  and  meannesses  when  they  get  the  mastery. 
Mr.  Beecher  has  frequently  shown,  by  powerful  delineations  of 
this  kind,  how  large  a  part  legitimate  terror  must  ever  play  in 
the  services  of  a  true  church,  when  the  terrors  of  superstition 
have  wholly  faded  out  It  cannot  be  said  of  his  preaching,  that 
he  preaches  "  Christianity  with  the  bones  taken  out."  He  does 
not  give  "  twenty  minutes  of  tepid  exhortation,"  nor  amuse  his 
auditors  with  elegant  and  melodious  essays  upon  virtue. 

We  need  not  say  that  his  power  as  a  public  teacher  is  due,  in 
a  great  degree,  \o  his  fertility  in  illustrative  similes.  Three  or 
four  volumes,  chiefly  filled  with  these,  as  they  have  been  caught 
from  his  lips,  are  before  the  public,  and  are  admired  on  both  con- 
tinents. Many  of  them  are  most  strikingly  happy,  and  flood  his 
subject  with  light.  The  smiles  that  break  out  upon  the  sea  of 
upturned  faces,  and  the  laughter  that  whispers  round  the  as- 
sembly, are  often  due  as  much  to  the  aptness  as  to  the  humor  of 
the  illustration  :  the  mind  receives  an  agreeable  shock  of  surprise 
at  finding  a  resemblance  where  only  the  widest  dissimilarity  had 
before  been  perceived. 

Of  late  years,  Mr.  Beecher  never  sends  an  audience  away  half 
satisfied ;  for  he  has  constantly  grown  with  the  growth  of  his 
splendid  opportunity.  How  attentive  the  great  assembly,  and 
how  quickly  responsive  to  the  points  he  makes !  That  occasional 
ripple  of  laughter,  —  it  is  not  from  any  want  of  seriousness  in  the 
speaker,  in  the  subject,  or  in  the  congregation,  nor  is  it  a  Row- 
land Hill  eccentricity.  It  is  simply  that  it  has  pleased  Heaverf 
to  endow  this  genial  soul  with  a  quick  perception  of  the  likeness 
there  is  between  things  unlike ;  and,  in  the  heat  and  torrent  of 
his  speech,  the  suddenly  discovered  similarity  amuses  while  it  in- 
structs. Philosophers  and  purists  may  cavil  at  parts  of  these 
sermons,  and,  of  course,  they  are  not  perfect ;  but  who  can  deny 
that  their  general  effect  is  civilizing,  humanizing,  elevating,  and 
16 


862  HENRY  WARD   BEECHER 

regenerating,  and  that  this  master  of  preaching  is  the  true  brotnet 
of  all  those  high  and  bright  spirits,  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean, 
who  are  striving  to  make  the  soul  of  this  age  fit  to  inhabit  and 
nobly  impel  its  new  body  ? 

The  sermon  over,  a  livelier  song  brings  the  service  to  a  happy 
conclusion  ;  and  slowly,  to  the  thunder  of  the  new  organ,  the  great 
assembly  dissolves  and  oozes  away. 

The  Sunday  services  are  not  the  whole  of  this  remarkable 
church.  It  has  not  yet  adopted  Mrs.  Stowe's  suggestion  of  pro- 
viding billiard-rooms,  bowling-alleys,  and  gymnastic  apparatus  for 
the  development  of  Christian  muscle,  though  these  may  come  in 
time.  The  building  at  present  contains  eleven  apartments,  among 
which  are  two  large  parlors,  wherein,  twice  a  month,  there  is  a 
social  gathering  of  the  church  and  congregation,  for  conversation 
with  the  pastor  and  with  one  another.  Perhaps,  by  and  by, 
these  will  be  always  open,  so  as  to  furnish  club  conveniences  to 
young  men  who  have  no  home.  Doubtless,  this  fine  social  or- 
ganization is  destined  to  development  in  many  directions  not  yet 
contemplated. 

Among  the  ancient  customs  of  New  England  and  its  colonies 
(of  which  Brooklyn  is  one)  is  the  Friday-evening  prayer-meet- 
ing. Some  of  our  readers,  perhaps,  have  dismal  recollections  of 
their  early  compelled  attendance  on  those  occasions,  when,  with 
their  hands  firmly  held  in  the  maternal  grasp,  lest  at  the  last 
moment  they  should  bolt  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  they  glided 
round  into  the  back  parts  of  the  church,  lighted  by  one  smoky 
lantern  hung  over  the  door  of  the  lecture-room,  itself  dimly 
lighted,  and  as  silent  as  the  adjacent  chambers  of  the  dead. 
Female  figures,  demure  in  dress  and  eyes  cast  down,  flitted  noise- 
lessly in,  and  the  awful  stillness  was  only  broken  by  the  heavy 
boots  of  the  few  elders  and  deacons  who  constituted  the  male 
portion  of  the  exceedingly  slender  audience.  With  difficulty, 
and  sometimes,  only  after  two  or  three  failures,  a  hymn  was 
raised,  which,  when  in  fullest  tide,  was  only  a  dreary  wail,  — 
how  unmelodious  to  the  ears  of  unreverential  youth,  gifted  with 
«L  sense  of  the  ludicrous !  How  long,  how  sad,  how  pointless  the 
prayers !  How  easy  to  believe,  down  in  that  dreary  cellar,  that 


AND  HIS   CHURCH.  363 

this  worid  was  but  a  wilderness,  and  man  "a  feeble  piece"! 
Deacon  Jones  could  speak  up  briskly  enough  when  he  was  selling 
two  yards  of  shilling  calico  to  a  farmer's  wife  sharp  at  a  bargain ; 
but  in  that  apartment,  contiguous  to  the  tombs,  it  seemed  natural 
that  he  should  utter  dismal  views  of  life  in  bad  grammar  through 
his  nose.  Mrs.  Jones  was  cheerful  when  she  gave  her  little  tea- 
party  the  evening  before ;  but  now  she  appeared  to  assent,  with- 
out surprise,  to  the  statement  that  she  was  a  pilgrim  'travelling 
through  a  vale  of  tears.  Veritable  pilgrims,  who  do  actually 
meet  in  an  oasis  of  the  desert,  have  a  merry  time  of  it,  travellers 
tell  us.  It  was  not  so  with  these  good  souls,  inhabitants  of  a 
pleasant  place,  and  anticipating  an  eternal  abode  in  an  inconceiv- 
ably delightful  paradise.  But  then  there  was  the  awful  chance 
of  missing  it !  And  the  reluctant  youth,  dragged  to  this  melan- 
choly scene,  who  avenged  themselves  by  giving  select  imitations 
of  deaconian  eloquence  for  the  amusement  of  young  friends, — 
what  was  to  become  of  them  ?  It  was  such  thoughts,  doubtless, 
that  gave  to  those  excellent  people  their  gloomy  habit  of  mind ; 
and  if  their  creed  expressed  the  literal  truth  respecting  man's 
destiny,  character,  and  duty,  terror  alone  was  rational,  and  laugh- 
ter was  hideous  and  defiant  mockery.  "What  room  in  a  benevo- 
lent heart  for  joy,  when  a  point  of  time,  a  moment's  space 
removed  us  to  that  heavenly  place,  or  shut  us  up  in  hell  ? 

From  the  time  when  we  were  accustomed  to  attend  such  meet- 
ings, long  ago,  we  never  saw  a  Friday-evening  meeting  till  the 
other  night,  when  we  found  ourselves  in  the  lecture-room  of 
Plymouth  Church. 

The  room  is  large,  very  lofty,  brilliantly  lighted  by  reflectors 
affixed  to  the  ceiling,  and,  except  the  scarlet  cushions  on  the 
settees,  void  of  upholstery.  It  was  filled  full  with  a  cheerful 
company,  not  one  of  whom  seemed  to  have  on  more  or  richer 
clothes  than  she  had  the  moral  strength  to  wear.  Content  and 
pleasant  expectation  sat  on  every  countenance,  as  when  people 
have  come  to  a  festival,  and  await  the  summons  to  the  banquet. 
No  pulpit,  or  anything  like  a  pulpit,  cast  a  shadow  over  the  scene; 
but  in  its  stead  there  was  a  rather  large  platform,  raised  two 
steps,  covered  with  dark  green  canvas,  and  having  upon  it  a  verj 


364  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER 

small  table  and  one  chair.  The  red-cushioned  settees  were  so 
arranged  as  to  enclose  the  green  platform  all  about,  except  on 
one  side  ;  so  that  he  who  should  sit  upon  it  would  appear  to  be 
in  the  midst  of  the  people,  raised  above  them  that  all  might  see 
him,  yet  still  among  them  and  one  of  them.  At  one  side  of  the 
platform,  but  on  the  floor  of  the  room,  among  the  settees,  there 
was  a  piano  open.  Mr.  Beecher  sat  near  by,  reading  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  letter  of  three  or  four  sheets.  The  whole  scene 
was  so  little  like  what  we  commonly  understand  by  the  word 
"  meeting,"  the  people  there  were  so  little  in  a  "  meeting  "  state 
of  mind,  and  the  subsequent  proceedings  were  so  informal,  un- 
studied, and  social,  that,  in  attempting  to  give  this  account  of 
them,  we  almost  feel  as  if  we  were  reporting  for  print  tne 
conversation  of  a  private  evening  party.  Anything  more  unlike 
an  old-fashioned  prayer-meeting  it  is  not  possible  to  conceive. 

Mr.  Beecher  took  his  seat  upon  the  platform,  and,  after  a  short 
pause,  began  the  exercises  by  saying,  in  a  low  tone,  these  words: 
"  Six  twenty-two." 

A  rustling  of  the  leaves  of  hymn-books  interpreted  the  mean- 
ing of  this  mystical  utterance,  which  otherwise  might  have  been 
taken  as  announcing  a  discourse  upon  the  prophetic  numbers. 
The  piano  confirmed  the  interpretation ;  and  then  the  company 
burst  into  one  of  those  joyous  and  unanimous  singings  which  are 
so  enchanting  a  feature  of  the  services  of  this  church.  Loud  rose 
the  beautiful  harmony  of  voices,  constraining  every  one  to  join  in 
the  song,  even  those  most  unused  to  sing.  When  it  was  ended, 
the  pastor,  in  the  same  low  tone,  pronounced  a  name ;  upon  which 
one  of  the  brethren  rose  to  his  feet,  and  the  rest  of  the  assembly 
slightly  inclined  their  heads.  It  would  not,  as  we  have  remarked, 
be  becoming  in  us  to  say  anything  upon  this  portion  of  the  pro- 
ceedings, except  to  note  that  the  prayers  were  all  brief,  perfectly 
quiet  and  simple,  and  free  from  the  routine  or  regulation  expres- 
sions. There  were  but  two  or  three  of  them,  alternating  with 
singing ;  and  when  that  part  of  the  exercises  was  concluded,  Mr. 
Beecher  had  scarcely  spoken.  The  meeting  ran  alone,  in  the 
most  spontaneous  and  pleasant  manner ;  and,  with  all  its  hearti 
ness  and  simplicity,  there  was  a  certain  refined  decorum  pervad 


AND  HIS   CHURCH.  365 

fng  all  that  was  done  and  said.  There  was  a  pause  after  the  last 
hymn  died  away,  and  then  Mr.  Beecher,  still  seated,  began,  in 
the  tone  of  conversation,  to  speak,  somewhat  after  this  manner. 

"  When,"  said  he,  "  I  first  began  to  walk  as  a  Christian,  in  my 
youthful  zeal  I  made  many  resolutions  that  were  well  meant,  but 
indiscreet.  Among  others,  I  remember  I  resolved  to  pray,  at 
least  onco,  in  some  way,  every  hour  that  I  was  awake.  I  tried 
faithfully  to  keep  this  resolution,  but  never  having  succeeded  a 
single  day,  I  suffered  the  pangs  of  self-reproach,  until  reflection 
satisfied  mo  that  the  only  wisdom  possible,  with  regard  to  such  a 
resolve,  was  to  break  it.  I  remember,  too,  that  I  made  a  resolu- 
tion to  speak  upon  religion  to  every  person  with  whom  I  con- 
versed, —  on  steamboats,  in  the  streets,  anywhere.  In  this,  also, 
I  failed,  as  I  ought ;  and  I  soon  learned  that,  in  the  sowing  of 
such  seed,  as  in  other  sowings,  times  and  seasons  and  methods 
must  be  considered  and  selected,  or  a  man  may  defeat  his  own 
object,  and  make  religion  loathsome." 

In  language  like  this  he  introduced  the  topic  of  the  evening's 
conversation,  which  was,  How  far,  and  on  what  occasions,  and  in 
what  manner,  one  person  may  invade,  so  to  speak,  the  personality 
of  another,  and  speak  to  him  upon  his  moral  condition.  The  pas- 
tor expressed  his  own  opinion,  always  in  the  conversational  tone, 
in  a  talk  of  ten  minutes'  duration  ;  in  the  course  of  which  he  ap- 
plauded, not  censured,  the  delicacy  which  causes  most  people  to 
shrink  from  doing  it.  He  said  that  a  man's  personality  was  not 
d  macadamized  road  for  every  vehicle  to  drive  upon  at  will ;  but 
rather  a  sacred  enclosure,  to  be  entered,  if  at  all,  with  the  consent 
of  the  owner,  and  with  deference  to  his  feelings  and  tastes.  He 
maintained,  however,  that  there  were  times  and  modes  in  which 
this  might  properly  be  done,  and  that  every  one  had  a  duty  to 
perform  of  this  nature.  When  he  had  finished  his  observations, 
he  said  the  subject  was  open  to  the  remarks  of  others ;  whereupon 
a  brother  instantly  rose  and  made  a  very  honest  confession. 

He  said  that  he  had  never  attempted  to  perform  the  duty  in 
question  without  having  a  palpitation  of  the  heart  and  a  complete 
M  turning  over "  of  his  inner  man.  He  had  often  reflected  upon 
this  curious  fact,  but  was  not  able  to  account  for  it.  He  had  not 


366  H^PARD   BEECHER 


allowed  this  repugnance  to  prevent  his  doing  the  duty  ;  but  he 
always  had  to  rush  at  it  and  perform  it  by  a  sort  of  coup  de  main, 
for  if  he  allowed  himself  to  think  about  the  matter,  he  could  not 
do  it  at  all.  He  concluded  by  saying  that  he  should  be  very 
much  obliged  to  any  one  if  he  could  explain  this  mystery. 

The  pastor  said  :  "  May  it  not  be  the  natural  delicacy  we  feel 
and  ought  to  feel,  in  approaching  the  interior  consciousness  cf 
another  person  ?  " 

Another  brother  rose.  There  was  no  hanging  back  at  this 
meeting  ;  there  were  no  awkward  pauses  ;  every  one  seemed  full 
of  matter.  The  new  speaker  was  not  inclined  to  admit  the  ex- 
planation suggested  by  the  pastor.  "  Suppose,"  said  he,  "  we 
were  to  see  a  man  in  imminent  danger  of  immediate  destruction, 
and  there  was  one  way  of  escape,  and  but  one,  which  we  saw  and 
he  did  not,  should  we  feel  any  delicacy  in  running  up  to  him  and 
urging  him  to  fly  for  his  life  ?  Is  it  not  a  want  of  faith  on  our 
part  that  causes  the  reluctance  and  hesitation  we  all  feel  in  urging 
others  to  avoid  a  peril  so  much  more  momentous  ?  " 

Mr.  Beecher  said  the  cases  were  not  parallel.  Irreligious 
persons,  he  remarked,  were  not  in  imminent  danger  of  immediate 
death  ;  they  might  die  to-morrow  ;  but  in  all  probability  they 
would  not,  and  an  ill-timed  or  injudicious  admonition  might  for- 
ever repel  them.  We  must  accept  the  doctrine  of  probabilities, 
and  act  in  accordance  with  it  in  this  particular,  as  in  all  others. 

Another  brother  had  a  puzzle  to  present  for  solution.  He 
said  that  he  too  had  experienced  the  repugnance  to  which  allu- 
Bion  had  been  made  ;  but  what  surprised  him  most  was,  that  the 
more  he  loved  a  person,  and  the  nearer  he  was  related  to  him, 
the  more  difficult  he  found  it  to  converse  with  him  upon  his  spir- 
itual state.  Why  is  this  ?  "I  should  like  to  have  this  question 
answered,"  said  he,  "  if  there  is  an  answer  to  it." 

Mr.  Beecher  observed  that  this  was  the  universal  experience, 
and  he  was  conscious  himself  of  a  peculiar  reluctance  and  embar- 
rassment in  approaching  one  of  his  own  household  on  the  subject 
in  question.  He  thought  it  was  due  to  the  fact  that  we  respect 
more  the  personal  rights  of  those  near  to  us  than  we  do  those  of 
rollers,  and  it  was  more  difficult  to  break  in  upon  the  routine  of 


- 

AND  ms  cgBBm  367 


oar  ordinary  familiarity  with  them.  We  are  accustomed  to  a 
certain  tone,  which  it  is  highly  embarrassing  to  jar  upon. 

Captain  Duncan  related  two  amusing  anecdotes  to  illustrate 
the  right  way  and  the  wrong  way  of  introducing  religious  con- 
versation. In  his  office  there  was  sitting  one  day  a  sort  of  lay 
preacher,  who  was  noted  for  lugging  in  his  favorite  topic  in  the 
most  forbidding  and  abrupt  manner.  A  sea-captain  came  in,  who 
was  introduced  to  this  individual. 

"  Captain  Porter,"  said  he,  with  awful  solemnity,  "  are  you  a 
captain  in  Israel  ?  " 

The  honest  sailor  was  so  abashed  and  confounded  at  this  novel 
salutation,  that  he  could  only  stammer  out  an  incoherent  reply ; 
and  he  was  evidently  much  disposed  to  give  the  tactless  zealot  a 
piece  of  his  mind  expressed  in  the  language  of  the  quarter-deck. 
When  the  solemn  man  took  his  leave,  the  disgusted  captain  said, 
"  If  ever  I  should  be  coming  to  your  office  again,  and  that  man 
tthould  be  here,  I  wish  you  would  send  me  word,  and  I  '11  stay 
away." 

A  few  days  after,  another  clergyman  chanced  to  be  in  the 
office,  no  other  than  Mr.  Beecher  himself,  and  another  captain 
came  in,  a  roistering,  swearing,  good-hearted  fellow.  The  con- 
versation fell  upon  sea-sickness,  a  malady  to  which  Mr.  Beecher 
is  peculiarly  liable.  This  captain  also  was  one  of  the  few  sailors 
who  are  always  sea-sick  in  going  to  sea,  and  gave  a  moving 
account  of  his  sufferings  from  that  cause.  Mr.  Beecher,  after 
listening  attentively  to  his  tale,  said,  "  Captain  Duncan,  if  I 
was  a  preacher  to  such  sailors  as  your  friend  here,  I  should  rep- 
lesent  hell  as  an  eternal  voyage,  with  every  man  on  board  in  the 
agonies  of  sea-sickness,  the  crisis  always  imminent,  but  never 
coming." 

This  ludicrous  and  most  unprofessional  picture  amused  the  old 
salt  exceedingly,  and  won  his  entire  good-will  toward  the  author 
of  it ;  so  that,  after  Mr.  Beecher  left,  he  said,  "  That 's  a  good 
fellow,  Captain  Duncan.  I  like  him,  and  I  'd  like  to  hear  him 
talk  more." 

Captain  Duncan  contended  that  this  free-and-easy  way  of  ad« 
iress  was  just  the  thing  for  such  characters.  Mr.  Beecher  had 


368  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER 

shown  him,  to  his  great  surprise,  that  a  man  could  be  a  decent 
and  comfortable  human  being,  although  he  was  a  minister,  and 
had  so  gained  his  confidence  and  good-will  that  he  could  say  any< 
thing  to  him  at  their  next  interview.  Captain  Duncan  finished 
his  remarks  by  a  decided  expression  of  his  disapproval  of  the 
canting  regulation  phrases  so  frequently  employed  by  religious 
people,  which  are  perfectly  nauseous  to  men  of  the  world. 

This  interesting  conversation  lasted  about  three  quarters  of  an 
hour,  and  ended,  not  because  the  theme  seemed  exhausted,  but 
because  the  time  was  up.  We  have  only  given  enough  of  it  to 
convey  some  little  idea  of  its  spirit.  The  company  again  broke 
into  one  of  their  cheerful  hymns,  and  the  meeting  was  dismissed 
in  the  usual  manner. 

During  the  whole  evening  not  a  canting  word  nor  a  false  tone 
had  been  uttered.  Some  words  were  used,  it  is  true,  and  some 
forms  practised,  which  are  not  congenial  to  "  men  of  the  world," 
and  some  doctrines  were  assumed  to  be  true  which  have  become 
incredible  to  many  of  us.  These,  however,  were  not  conspicuous 
nor  much  dwelt  upon.  The  subject,  too,  of  the  conversation  was 
less  suitable  to  our  purpose  than  most  of  the  topics  discussed  at 
these  meetings,  which  usually  have  a  more  direct  bearing  upon 
the  conduct  of  life.  Nevertheless,  is  it  not  apparent  that  such 
meetings  as  this,  conducted  by  a  man  of  tact,  good  sense,  and  ex- 
perience, must  be  an  aid  to  good  living  ?  Here  were  a  number 
of  people,  —  parents,  business-men,  and  others,  —  most  of  them 
heavily  burdened  with  responsibility,  having  notes  and  rents  to 
pay,  customers  to  get  and  keep,  children  to  rear,  —  busy  people, 
anxious  people,  of  extremely  diverse  characters,  but  united  by  a 
common  desire  to  live  nobly.  The  difficulties  of  noble  living  are 
very  great,  —  never  so  great,  perhaps,  as  now  and  here,  —  and 
these  people  assemble  every  week  to  converse  upon  them.  "What 
more  rational  thing  could  they  do  ?  If  they  came  together  to 
Snivel  and  cant,  and  to  support  one  another  in  a  miserable  conceit 
of  being  the  elect  of  the  human  species,  we  might  object.  But 
no  description  can  show  how  far  from  that,  how  opposite  to  that, 
is  the  tone,  the  spirit,  the  object,  of  the  Friday-evening  meeting 
at  Plymouth  Church. 


AND  HIS   CHURCH.  369 

Have  we  "  Liberals  "  —  as  we  presume  to  call  ourselves  —  ever 
devised  anything  so  well  adapted  as  this  to  the  needs  of  average 
mortals  struggling  with  the  ordinary  troubles  of  life  ?  We  know 
of  nothing.  Philosophical  treatises,  and  arithmetical  computations 
respecting  the  number  of  people  who  inhabited  Palestine,  may  have 
their  use,  but  they  cannot  fill  the  aching  void  in  the  heart  of  a 
lone  widow,  or  teach  an  anxious  father  how  to  manage  a  trouble- 
some boy.  There  was  an  old  lady  near  us  at  this  meeting,  —  a 
good  soul  in  a  bonnet  four  fashions  old,  —  who  sat  and  cried  for 
joy,  as  the  brethren  carried  on  their  talk.  She  had  come  in 
alone  from  her  solitary  room,  and  enjoyed  alt  the  evening  long  a 
blended  moral  and  literary  rapture.  It  was  a  banquet  of  delight 
to  her,  the  recollection  of  which  would  brighten  all  her  week,  and 
it  cost  her  no  more  than  air  and  sunlight.  To  the  happy,  the 
strong,  the  victorious,  Shakespeare  and  the  Musical  Glasses  may 
appear  to  suffice ;  but  the  world  is  full  of  the  weak,  the  wretched, 
and  the  vanquished. 

There  was  an  infuriate  heretic  in  Boston  once,  whose  antipathy 
to  what  he  called  "  superstition  "  was  something  that  bordered  upon 
lunacy.  But  the  time  came  when  he  had  a  child,  his  only  child, 
and  the  sole  joy  of  his  life,  dead  in  the  house.  It  had  to  be 
buried.  The  broken-hearted  father  could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  his  child's  being  carried  out  and  placed  in  its  grave  without 
some  outward  mark  of  respect,  some  ceremonial  which  should 
recognize  the  difference  between  a  dead  child  and  a  dead  kitten  ; 
and  he  was  fain,  at  last,  to  go  out  and  bring  to  his  house  a  poor 
lame  cobbler,  who  was  a  kind  of  Methodist  preacher,  to  say  and 
read  a  few  words  that  should  break  the  fall  of  the  darling  object 
into  the  tomb.  The  occurrence  made  no  change  in  his  opinions, 
but  it  revolutionized  his  feelings.  He  is  as  untheological  as 
ever ;  but  he  would  subscribe  money  to  build  a  church,  and  he 
esteems  no  man  more  than  an  honest  clergyman. 

If  anything  can  be  predicated  of  the  future  with  certainty,  it  is, 
that  the  American  people  will  never  give  up  that  portion  of  their 
heritage  from  the  past  which  we  call  Sunday,  but  will  always 
devote  its  hours  to  resting  the  body  and  improving  the  soul.  All 
our  theologies  will  pass  away,  but  this  will  remain.  Nor  less 
16*  X 


870  HENRY  WARD  BEECHEB 

certain  is  it,  that  there  will  always  be  a  class  of  men  who  will  do, 
professionally  and  as  their  settled  vocation,  the  work  now  done 
by  the  clergy.  That  work  can  never  be  dispensed  with,  either 
in  civilized  or  in  barbarous  communities.  The  great  problem  of 
civilization  is,  how  to  bring  the  higher*  intelligence  of  the  com- 
munity, and  its  better  moral  feeling,  to  bear  upon  the  mass 
of  people,  so  that  the  lowest  grade  of  intelligence  and  morals 
shall  be  always  approaching  the  higher,  and  the  higher  still 
rising.  A  church  purified  of  superstition  solves  part  of  this 
problem,  and  a  good  school  system  does  the  rest. 

All  things  improve  in  this  world  very  much  in  the  same  way. 
The  improvement  originates  in  one  man's  mind,  and,  being  carried 
into  effect  with  evident  good  results,  it  is  copied  by  others.  We 
are  all  apt  lazily  to  run  in  the  groove  in  which  we  find  ourselves ; 
we  are  creatures  of  habit,  and  slaves  of  tradition.  Now  and 
then,  however,  in  every  profession  and  sphere,  if  they  are  untram- 
melled by  law,  an  individual  appears  who  is  discontented  with 
the  ancient  methods,  or  sceptical  of  the  old  traditions,  or  both, 
and  he  invents  better  ways,  or  arrives  at  more  rational  opinions. 
Other  men  look  on  and  approve  the  improved  process,  or  listen 
and  imbibe  the  advanced  belief. 

Now,  there  appears  to  be  a  man  upon  Brooklyn  Heights  who 
has  found  out  a  more  excellent  way  of  conducting  a  church  than 
has  been  previously  known.  He  does  not  waste  the  best  hours 
of  every  day  in  writing  sermons,  but  employs  those  hours  in  ab- 
sorbing the  knowledge  and  experience  which  should  be  the  matter 
of  sermons.  He  does  not  fritter  away  the  time  of  a  public  in- 
structor in  "  pastoral  visits,"  and  other  useless  visitations.  His 
mode  of  conducting  a  public  ceremonial  reaches  the  finish  of  high 
art,  which  it  resembles  also  in  its  sincerity  and  simplicity.  He 
has  known  how  to  banish  from  his  church  everything  that  savora 
of  cant  and  sanctimoniousness,  —  so  loathsome  to  honest  minds. 
Without  formally  rejecting  time-honored  forms  and  usages,  he  has 
infused  into  his  teachings  more  and  more  of  the  modern  spirit, 
drawn  more  and  more  from  science  and  life,  less  and  less  from 
tradition,  until  he  has  acquired  the  power  of  preaching  sermons 
which  Edwards  and  Voltaire,  Whitefield  and  Tom  Paine,  would 


AND  HIS  CHURCH.  371 

heartily  and  equally  enjoy.  Surely,  there  is  something  in  all 
this  which  could  be  imitated.  The  great  talents  with  which  he  is 
endowed  cannot  be  imparted,  but  we  do  not  believe  that  his 
power  is  wholly  derived  from  his  talent.  A  man  of  only  respect- 
able abilities,  who  should  catch  his  spirit,  practise  some  of  hia 
methods,  and  spend  his  strength  in  getting  knowledge,  and  not  in 
coining  sentences,  would  be  able  anywhere  to  gather  round  him  a 
concourse  of  hearers.  .The  great  secret  is,  to  let  orthodoxy 
slide,  as  something  which  is  neither  to  be  maintained  nor  refuted, 
—  insisting  only  on  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  and  applying  it  to 
the  life  of  the  present  day  in  this  land. 

There  are  some  reasons  for  thinking  that  the  men  and  the  or- 
ganizations that  have  had  in  charge  the  moral  interests  of  the 
people  of  the  United  States  for  the  last  fifty  years  have  not  been 
quite  equal  to  their  trust.  What  are  we  to  think  of  such  results 
of  New  England  culture  as  Douglas,  Cass,  Webster,  and  many 
other  men  of  great  ability,  but  strangely  wanting  in  moral  power? 
What  are  we  to  think  of  the  great  numbers  of  Southern  Yankees 
who  were,  and  are,  the  bitterest  foes  of  all  that  New  England 
represents  ?  What  are  we  to  think  of  the  Rings  that  seem  now- 
a-days  to  form  themselves,  as  it  were,  spontaneously  in  every 
great  corporation  ?  What  of  the  club-houses  that  spring  up  at 
every  corner,  for  the  accommodation  of  husbands  and  fathers 
who  find  more  attractions  in  wine,  supper,  and  equivocal  stories 
than  in  the  society  of  their  wives  and  children  ?  What  are  we 
to  think  of  the  fact,  that  among  the  people  who  can  afford  to  adver- 
tise at  the  rate  of  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  line  are  those  who  pro- 
vide women  with  the  means  of  killing  their  unborn  children, — 
a  double  crime,  murder  and  suicide  ?  What  are  we  to  think  of 
the  moral  impotence  of  almost  all  women  to  resist  the  tyranny  of 
fashion,  and  the  necessity  that  appears  to  rest  upon  them  to  copy 
every  disfiguration  invented  by  the  harlots  of  Paris  ?  What  are 
we  to  think  of  the  want  both  of  masculine  and  moral  force  in 
\ien,  which  makes  them  helpless  against  the  extravagance  of 
their  households,  to  support  which  they  do  fifty  years'  work  in 
twenty,  and  then  die  ?  What  are  we  to  thini  of  the  fee.  fb* 


?>72  HENRY  WARD   BEECHER  AND  HIS  CHURCH. 

all  the  creatures  living  in  the  United  States  enjoy  good  health, 
except  the  human  beings,  who  are  nearly  all  ill  ? 

When  we  consider  such  things  as  these,  we  cannot  help  calling 
in  question  a  kind  of  public  teaching  which  leaves  the  people  in 
ignorance  of  so  much  that  they  most  need  to  know.  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  is  the  only  clergyman  we  ever  heard  who  habit- 
ually promulgates  the  truth,  that  to  be  ill  is  generally  a  sin,  and 
always  a  shame.  We  never  heard  him  utter  the  demoralizing 
falsehood,  that  this  present  life  is  short  and  of  small  account,  and 
that  nothing  is  worthy  of  much  consideration  except  the  life  to 
come.  He  dwells  much  on  the  enormous  length  of  this  life,  and 
the  prodigious  revenue  of  happiness  it  may  yield  to  those  who 
comply  with  the  conditions  of  happiness.  It  is  his  habit,  also,  to 
preach  the  duty  which  devolves  upon  every  person,  to  labor  for 
the  increase  of  his  knowledge  and  the  general  improvement  of 
his  mind.  We  have  heard  him  say  on  the  platform  of  his 
church,  that  it  was  disgraceful  to  any  mechanic  or  clerk  to  let 
such  a  picture  as  the  Heart  of  the  Andes  be  exhibited  for  twen- 
ty-five cents,  and  not  go  and  see  it.  Probably  there  is  not  one 
honest  clergyman  in  the  country  who  does  not  fairly  earn  his 
livelihood  by  the  good  he  does,  or  by  the  evil  he  prevents.  But 
not  enough  good  is  done,  and  not  enough  evil  prevented.  The 
sudden  wealth  that  has  come  upon  the  world  since  the  improve- 
ment of  the  steam-engine  adds  a  new  difficulty  to  the  life  of  mil- 
lions. So  far,  the  world  does  not  appear  to  have  made  the  best 
use  of  its  too  rapidly  increased  surplus.  "We  cannot  sell  a 
twelve-dollar  book  in  this  country,"  said  a  bookseller  to  us  the 
other  day.  But  how  easy  to  sell  two-hundred-dollar  garments ! 
There  seems  great  need  of  something  that  shall  have  power  to 
spiritualize  mankind,  and  make  head  against  the  reinforced  influ- 
ence of  material  things.  It  may  be  that  the  true  method  of 
dealing  with  the  souls  of  modern  men  has  been,  in  part,  dis- 
covered by  Mr.  Beecher,  and  that  it  would  be  well  for  persona 
aspiring  to  the  same  vocation  to  begin  their  preparation  by  mak- 
ing a  pilgrimage  to  Brooklyn  Heights. 


COMMODORE  VANDEEBILT. 


COMMODORE  VANDERBILT.* 


THE  Staten  Island  ferry,  on  a  fine  afternoon  in  summer,  is  one 
of  the  pleasantest  scenes  which  New  York  affords.  The 
Island,  seven  miles  distant  from  the  city,  forms  one  of  the  sides  of 
the  Narrows,  through  which  the  commerce  of  the  city  and  the  emi- 
grant ships  enter  the  magnificent  bay  that  so  worthily  announces 
the  grandeur  of  the  New  World.  The  ferry-boat,  starting  from 
the  extremity  of  Manhattan  Island,  first  gives  its  passengers  a 
view  of  the  East  River,  all  alive  with  every  description  of  craft ; 
then,  gliding  round  past  Governor's  Island,  dotted  with  camps  and 
crowned  with  barracks,  with  the  national  flag  floating  above  all, 
it  affords  a  view  of  the  lofty  bluffs  which  rise  on  one  side  of  the 
Hudson  and  the  long  line  of  the  mast-fringed  city  on  the  other ; 
then,  rounding  Governor's  Island,  the  steamer  pushes  its  way 
towards  the  Narrows,  disclosing  to  view  Fort  Lafayette,  so  cele- 
brated of  late,  the  giant  defensive  works  opposite  to  it,  the  um- 
brag<*ous  and  lofty  sides  of  Staten  Island,  covered  with  villas, 
arid,  beyond  all,  the  Ocean,  lighted  up  by  Coney  Island's  belt  of 
6»owy  sand,  glistening  in  the  sun. 

Change  the  scene  to  fifty-five  years  ago :  New  York  was  then 
P  town  of  eighty  thousand  people,  and  Staten  Island  was  inhab- 
ited only  by  farmers,  gardeners,  and  fishermen,  who  lived  by  sup- 
plying the  city  with  provisions.  No  elegant  seats,  no  picturesque 
villas  adorned  the  hillsides,  and  pleasure-seekers  found  a  nearer 

*  This  narrative  of  the  business-life  of  Commodore  Vnnderbilt  was  written 
immediately  after  I  had  heard  him  tell  the  story  himself.  It  vrns  written  at  the 
request  of  Robert  Bonner,  Esq.,  and  published  by  him  in  the  New  York  Ledger 
of  April  8,  1865.  I  should  add,  that  several  of  the  facts  given  were  related 
to  me  at  various  times  by  members  of  Mr.  VanderbUt's  family. 


COMMODORE   VANDERBILT. 

resort  in  Hoboken.  The  ferry  then,  if  ferry  it  could  be  called, 
consisted  of  a  few  sail-boats,  which  left  the  island  in  the  mornin<» 

*  O 

loaded  with  vegetables  and  fish,  and  returned,  if  wind  and  tide 
permitted,  at  night.  If  a  pleasure  party  occasionally  visited 
Staten  Island,  they  considered  themselves  in  the  light  of  bold 
adventurers,  who  had  gone  far  beyond  the  ordinary  limits  of  an 
excursion.  There  was  only  one  thing  in  common  between  the 
ferry  at  that  day  and  this :  the  boats  started  from  the  same  spot. 
Where  the  ferry-house  now  stands  at  Whitehall  was  then  the 
beach  to  which  the  boatmen  brought  their  freight,  and  where  they 
remained  waiting  for  a  return  cargo.  That  was,  also,  the  general 
boat-stand  of  the  city.  Whoever  wanted  a  boat,  for  business  or 
pleasure,  repaired  to  Whitehall,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence to  the  boatmen  from  Staten  Island,  whether  they  returned 
home  with  a  load,  or  shared  in  the  general  business  of  the  port. 

It  is  to  one  of  those  Whitehall  boatmen  of  1810,  that  we  have 
to  direct  the  reader's  attention.  He  was  distinguished  from  his 
comrades  on  the  stand  in  several  ways.  Though  master  of  a 
Staten  Island  boat  that  would  carry  twenty  passengers,  he  was 
but  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  he  was  one  of  the  handsomest,  the 
most  agile  and  athletic,  young  fellows  that  either  Island  could 
show.  Young  as  he  was,  there  was  that  in  his  face  and  bearing 
which  gave  assurance  that  he  was  abundantly  competent  to  his 
work.  He  was  always  at  his  post  betimes,  and  on  the  alert  for  a 
job.  He  always  performed  what  he  undertook.  This  summer 
of  1810  was  his  first  season,  but  he  had  already  an  ample  share 
of  the  best  of  the  business  of  the  harbor. 

Cornelius  Vanderbilt  was  the  name  of  this  notable  youth,  — 
the  same  Cornelius  Vanderbilt  who  has  since  built  a  hundred 
steamboats,  who  has  since  made  a  present  to  his  country  of  a 
steamship  of  five  thousand  tons'  burden,  who  has  since  bought 
lines  of  railroad,  and  who  reported  his  income  to  the  tax  commis- 
sioners, last  year  at  something  near  three  quarters  of  a  million. 
The  first  money  the  steamboat-king  ever  earned  was  by  carrying 
passengers  between  Staten  Island  and  New  York  at  eighteen 
cents  each. 

His  father,  who  was  also  named  Cornelius,  was  the  founder  of 


COMMODORE   VANDERBILT.  377 

the  Staten  Island  ferry.  He  was  a  thriving  farmer  on  the 
Island  as  early  as  1794,  tilling  his  own  land  near  the  Quarantine 
Ground,  and  conveying  his  produce  to  New  York  in  his  own 
boat  Frequently  he  would  carry  the  produce  of  some  of  his 
neighbors,  and,  in  course  of  time,  he  ran  his  boat  regularly,  leav- 
ing in  the  morning  and  returning  at  night,  during  the  whole  of 
the  summer,  and  thus  he  established  a  ferry  which  has  since  be- 
come one  of  the  most  profitable  in  the  world,  carrying  sometimes 
more  than  twelve  thousand  passengers  in  a  day.  He  was  an  in- 
dustrious, enterprising,  liberal  man,  and  early  acquired  a  proper- 
ty which  for  that  time  was  affluence.  His  wife  was  a  singularly 
wise  and  energetic  woman.  She  was  the  main  stay  of  the  family, 
since  her  husband  was  somewhat  too  liberal  for  his  means,  and 
not  always  prudent  in  his  projects.  Once,  when  her  husband 
had  fatally  involved  himself,  and  their  farm  was  in  danger  of  be- 
ing sold  for  a  debt  of  three  thousand  dollars,  she  produced,  at  the 
last  extremity,  her  private  store,  and  counted  out  the  whole  sum 
in  gold  pieces.  She  lived  to  the  great  age  of  eighty-seven,  and 
left  an  estate  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  the  fruit  of  her  own  indus- 
try and  prudence.  Her  son,  like.ma'ny  other  distinguished  men, 
loves  to  acknowledge  that  whatever  he  has,  and  whatever  he  is 
that  is  good,  he  owes  to  the  precepts,  the  example,  and  the  judi- 
cious government  of  his  mother. 

Cornelius,  the  eldest  of  their  family  of  nine  children,  was  born 
at  the  old  farm-house  on  Staten  Island,  May  27,  1794.  A 
healthy,  vigorous  boy,  fond  of  out-door  sports,  excelling  his  com- 
panions in  all  boyish  feats,  on  land  and  water,  he  had  an  uncon- 
querable aversion  to  the  confinement  of  the  school-room.  At  that 
day,  the  school-room  was,  indeed,  a  dull  and  uninviting  place,  the 
lessons  a  tedious  routine  of  learning  by  rote,  and  the  teacher  a 
tyrant,  enforcing  them  by  the  terrors  of  the  stick.  The  boy  went 
to  school  a  little,  now  and  then,  but  learned  little  more  than  to 
read,  write,  and  cipher,  and  these  imperfectly.  The  only  books 
he  remembers  using  at  school  were  the  spelling-book  and  Testa- 
ment. His  real  education  was  gained  in  working  on  his  father's 
farm,  helping  to  sail  his  father's  boat,  driving  his  father's  horses, 
swimming,  riding,  rowing,  sporting  with  his  young  friends.  H« 


378  COMMODORE  VANDERBILT. 

was  a  bold  rider  from  infancy,  and  passionately  fond  of  a  fine 
horse.  He  tells  his  friends  sometimes,  that  he  rode  a  race-horse 
at  full  speed  when  he  was  but  six  years  old.  That  he  regrets  not 
having  acquired  more  school  knowledge,  that  he  values  what  is 
commonly  called  education,  is  shown  by  the  care  he  has  taken  to 
have  his  own  children  well  instructed. 

There  never  was  a  clearer  proof  than  in  his  case  that  the  child 
is  father  of  the  man.  He  showed  in  boyhood  the  very  quality 
which  has  most  distinguished  him  as  a  man,  —  the  power  of  accom- 
plishing things  in  spite  of  difficulty  and  opposition.  He  was  a 
born  conqueror. 

When  he  was  twelve  years  old,  his  father  took  a  contract  for 
getting  the  cargo  out  of  a  vessel  stranded  near  Sandy  Hook,  and 
transporting  it  to  New  York  in  lighters.  It  was  necessary  to 
carry  the  cargo  in  wagons  across  a  sandy  spit.  Cornelius,  with 
a  little  fleet  of  lighters,  three  wagons,  their  horses  and  drivers, 
started  from  home  solely  charged  with  the  management  of  this 
difficult  affair.  After  loading  the  lighters  and  starting  them  for 
the  city,  he  had  to  conduct  his  wagons  home  by  land,  —  a  long 
distance  over  Jersey  sands.'  Leaving  the  beach  with  only  six 
dollars,  he  reached  South  Amboy  penniless,  with  six  horses  and 
three  men,  all  hungry,  still  far  from  home,  and  separated  from 
Staten  Island  by  an  arm  of  the  sea  half  a  mile  wide,  that  could 
be  crossed  only  by  paying  the  ferryman  six  dollars.  This  was  a 
puzzling  predicament  for  a  boy  of  twelve,  and  he  pondered  long 
how  he  could  get  out  of  it.  At  length  he  went  boldly  to  the  only 
innkeeper  of  the  place,  and  addressed  him  thus  :  — 

"  I  have  here  three  teams  that  I  want  to  get  over  to  Staten 
Island.  If  you  will  put  us  across,  I  '11  leave  with  you  one  of  my 
horses  in  pawn,  and  if  I  don't  send  you  back  the  six  dollars  with- 
in forty-eight  hours  you  may  keep  the  horse." 

The  innkeeper  looked  into  the  bright,  honest  eyes  of  the  boy 
for  a  moment  and  said :  — 

« I  '11  do  it." 

And  he  did  it.  The  horse  in  pawn  was  left  with  the  ferryman 
»n  the  Island,  and  he  was  redeemed  in  time. 

Before  he  was  sixteen  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  earn  his 


COMMODORE  VANDERBILT.  379 

livelihood  by  navigation  of  some  kind,  and  often,  when  tired  of 
farm  work,  he  had  cast  wistful  glances  at  the  outward-bound 
ships  that  passed  his  home.  Occasionally,  too,  he  had  alarmed 
his  mother  by  threatening  to  run  away  and  go  to  sea.  His  pref- 
erence, however,  was  to  become  a  boatman  of  New  York  harbor. 
On  the  first  of  May,  1810,  —  an  important  day  in  his  history,— 
he  made  known  his  wishes  to  his  mother,  and  asked  her  to  ad- 
vance him  a  hundred  dollars  for  the  purchase  of  a  boat.  She 
replied :  — 

"  My  son,  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  this  month  you  will  be 
sixteen  years  old.  If,  by  your  birthday,  you  will  plough,  harrow, 
and  plant  with  corn  that  lot,"  pointing  to  a  field,  "  I  will  advance 
you  the  money." 

The  field  was  one  of  eight  acres,  very  rough,  tough,  and  stony. 
He  informed  his  young  companions  of  his  mother's  conditional 
promise,  and  several  of  them  readily  agreed  to  help  him.  For 
the  next  two  weeks  the  field  presented  the  spectacle  of  a  continu- 
ous "  bee  "  of  boys,  picking  up  stones,  ploughing,  harrowing,  and 
planting.  To  say  that  the  work  was  done  in  time,  and  done 
thoroughly,  is  only  another  way  of  stating  that  it  was  undertaken 
and  conducted  by  Cornelius  Vanderbilt.  On  his  birthday  he 
claimed  the  fulfilment  of  his  mother's  promise.  Reluctantly  she 
gave  him  the  money,  considering  his  project  only  less  wild  than 
that  of  running  away  to  sea.  He  hurried  off  to  a  neighboring 
village,  bought  his  boat,  hoisted  sail,  and  started  for  home  one 
of  the  happiest  youths  in  the  world.  His  first  adventure  seemed 
to  justify  his  mother's  fears,  for  he  struck  a  sunken  wreck  on  his 
way,  and  just  managed  to  run  his  boat  ashore  before  she  filled 
and  sunk. 

Undismayed  at  this  mishap,  he  began  his  new  career.  His 
success,  as  we  have  intimated,  was  speedy  and  great.  He  made 
a  thousand  dollars  during  each  of  the  next  three  summers.  Often 
he  worked  all  night,  but  he  was  never  absent  from  his  post  by 
day,  and  he  soon  had  the  cream  of  the  boating  business  of  the 
port. 

At  that  day  parents  claimed  the  services  and  the  earnings  of 
their  children  till  they  were  twenty-one.  In  other  words,  families 


380  COMMODORE  VANDERBILT. 

made  common  cause  against  the  common  enemy,  Want.  The 
arrangement  between  this  young  boatman  and  his  parents  was 
that  he  should  give  them  all  his  day  earnings  and  half  his  night 
earnings.  He  fulfilled  his  engagement  faithfully  until  his  parents 
released  him  from  it,  and  with  his  own  half  of  his  earnings  by 
night,  he  bought  all  his  clothes.  He  had  forty  competitors  in  the 
business,  who,  being  all  grown  men,  could  dispose  of  their  gains 
as  they  chose ;  but  of  all  the  forty,  he  aflone  has  emerged  to 
prosperity  and  distinction.  "Why  was  this  ?  There  were  several 
reason0  He  soon  came  to  be  the  best  boatman  in  the  port.  He 
attendeu  to  his  business  more  regularly  and  strictly  than  any 
other.  He  had  no  vices.  His  comrades  spent  at  night  much  of 
what  they  earned  by  day,  and  when  the  winter  suspended  their 
business,  instead  of  living  on  the  last  summer's  savings,  they  were 
obliged  to  lay  up  debts  for  the  next  summer's  gains  to  discharge. 
In  those  three  years  of  willing  servitude  to  his  parents,  Cornelius 
Vanderbilt  added  to  the  family's  common  stock  of  wealth,  and 
gained  for  himself  three  things,  —  a  perfect  knowledge  of  his 
business,  habits  of  industry  and  self-control,  and  the  best  boat  in 
the  harbor. 

The  war  of  1812  suspended  the  commerce  of  the  port,  but 
gave  a  great  impulse  to  boating.  There  were  men-of-war  in  the 
harbor  and  garrisons  in  the  forts,  which  gave  to  the  boatmen  of 
Whitehall  and  Staten  Island  plenty  of  business,  of  which  Corne- 
lius Vanderbilt  had  his  usual  share.  In  September,  1813,  during  a 
tremendous  gale,  a  British  fleet  attempted  to  run  past  Fort  Rich- 
mond. After  the  repulse,  the  commander  of  the  fort,  expecting 
a  renewal  of  the  attempt,  was  anxious  to  get  the  news  to  the 
city,  so  as  to  secure  a  reinforcement  early  the  next  day.  Every 
one  agreed  that,  if  the  thing  could  be  done,  there  was  but  one 
man  who  could  do  it ;  and,  accordingly,  yqung  Vanderbilt  waa 
sent  for. 

"  Can  you  take  a  party  up  to  the  city  in  this  gale  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  I  shall  have  to  carry  them  part 
of  tho  way  under  water." 

When  he  made  fast  to  Coffee-House  slip,  an  hour  or  two  after, 
every  man  in  the  boat  was  drenched  to  the  skin.  But  there  they 
were,  and  the  fort  was  reinforced  the  next  morning. 


COMMODORE   VANDERBILT.  381 

About  this  time,  the  young  man  had  another  important  conver- 
sation with  his  mother,  which,  perhaps,  was  more  embarrassing 
than  the  one  recorded  above.  He  was  in  love.  Sophia  Johnson 
was  the  maiden's  name,  —  a  neighbor's  lovely  and  industrious 
daughter,  whose  affections  he  had  wooed  and  won.  He  asked 
his  mother's  consent  to  the  match,  and  that  henceforth  he  might 
tetve  the  disposal  of  his  own  earnings.  She  approved  his  choice, 
and  released  him  from  his  obligations.  During  the  rest  of  that 
season  he  labored  with  new  energy,  saved  five  hundred  dollars, 
and,  in  December,  1813,  when  he  laid  up  his  boat  for  the  winter, 
became  the  happy  husband  of  the  best  of  wives. 

In  the  following  spring,  a  great  alarm  pervaded  all  the  sea- 
board cities  of  America.  Rumors  were  abroad  of  that  great  ex- 
pedition which,  at  the  close  of  the  year,  attacked  New  Orleans ; 
but,  in  the  spring  and  summer,  no  one  knew  upon  which  port  the 
blow  would  fall.  The  militia  of  New  York  were  called  out  for 
three  months,  under  a  penalty  of  ninety-six  dollars  to  whomso- 
ever should  fail  to  appear  at  the  rendezvous.  The  boatmen,  in 
die  midst  of  a  flourishing  business,  and  especially  our  young  hus- 
oand,  were  reluctant  to  lose  the  profits  of  a  season's  labor,  which 
were  equivalent,  in  their  peculiar  case,  to  the  income  of  a  whole 
vear.  An  advertisement  appeared  one  day  in  the  papers  which 
gave  them  a  faint  prospect  of  escaping  this  disaster.  It  was  is- 
sued from  the  office  of  the  commissary-general,  Matthew  L.  Da- 
vis, inviting  bids  from  the  boatmen  for  the  contract  of  conveying 
provisions  to  the  posts  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York  during  the 
three  months,  the  contractor  to  be  exempt  from  military  duty. 
The  boatmen  caught  at  this,  as  a  drowning  man  catches  at  a 
straw,  and  put  in  bids  at  rates  preposterously  low,  —  all  except 
Cornelius  Vanderbilt. 

"  Why  don't  you  send  in  a  bid  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  Of  what  use  would  it  be  ?  "  replied  the  son.  "  They  are  of- 
fering to  do  the  work  at  half-price.  It  can't  be  done  at  such 
rates." 

"  Well,"  added  the  father,  "  it  can  do  no  harm  to  try  for  it." 

So,  to  please  his  father,  but  without  the  slightest  expectation  of 
getting  the  contract,  he  sent  in  an  application,  cJering  to  trans- 


382  COMMODORE  VANDERBILT, 

port  the  provisions  at  a  price  which  would  enable  him  to  do  it 
with  the  requisite  certainty  and  promptitude.  His  offer  was  sim- 
ply fair  to  both  parties. 

On  the  day  named  for  the  awarding  of  the  contract,  all  the 
boatmen  but  him  assembled  in  the  commissary's  office.  He  re- 
mained at  the  boat-stand,  not  considering  that  he  had  any  in- 
terest in  the  matter.  One  after  another,  his  comrades  returned 
with  long  faces,  sufficiently  indicative  of  their  disappointment ; 
until,  at  length,  all  of  them  had  come  in,  but  no  one  bringing  the 
prize  Puzzled  at  this,  he  strolled  himself  to  the  office,  and 
asked  the  commissary  if  the  contract  had  been  given. 

"O  yes,"  said  Davis;  "that  business  is  settled.  Cornelius 
Vanderbilt  is  the  man." 

He  was  thunderstruck. 

"  What ! "  said  the  commissary,  observing  his  astonishment, 
"is  it  you?" 

"  My  name  is  Cornelius  Vanderbilt." 

"  Well,"  said  Davis,  "  don't  you  know  why  we  have  given  the 
contract  to  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Why,  it  is  because  we  want  this  business  done,  and  we  know 
you'll  do  it." 

Matthew  Ju  Davis,  as  the  confidant  of  Aaron  Burr,  did  a  good 
many  foolish  things  in  his  life,  but  on  this  occasion  he  did  a  wise 
one.  The  contractor  asked  him  but  one  favor,  which  was,  that 
the  daily  load  of  stores  might  be  ready  for  him  every  evening  at 
six  o'clock.  There  were  six  posts  to  be  supplied :  Harlem,  Hurl 
Gate,  Ward's  Island,  and  three  others  in  the  harbor  or  at  the 
Narrows,  each  of  which  required  one  load  a  week.  Young  Van- 
derbilt did  all  this  work  at  night ;  and  although,  during  the 
whole  period  of  three  months,  he  never  once  failed  to  perform 
his  contract,  he  was  never  once  absent  from  his  stand  in  the  day- 
time. He  slept  when  he  could,  and  when  he  could  not  sleep  ho 
did  without  it.  Only  on  Sunday  and  Sunday  night  could  he  be 
said  to  rest.  There  was  a  rare  harvest  for  boatmen  that  sum- 
mer. Transporting  sick  and  furloughed  soldiers,  naval  and  mil 
:tary  cancers,  the  friends  of  the  militia  men,  and  pleasure-seekers 


COMMODORE  VANDERBILT.  383 

visiting  the  forts,  kept  those  of  the  boatmen  who  had  '<  escaped 
the  draft,"  profitably  busy.  It  was  not  the  time  for  an  enterpris- 
ing man  to  be  absent  from  his  post. 

From  the  gains  of  that  summer  he  built  a  superb  little  schooner, 
the  Dread ;  and,  the  year  following,  the  joyful  year  of  peace,  he 
and  his  brother-in-law,  Captain  De  Forrest,  launched  the  Char- 
lotte, a  vessel  large  enough  for  coasting  service,  and  the  pride  of 
the  harbor  for  model  and  speed.  In  this  vessel,  when  the  sum- 
mer's work  was  over,  he  voyaged  sometimes  along  the  Southern 
coast,  bringing  home  considerable  freights  from  the  Carolinas. 
Knowing  the  coast  thoroughly,  and  being  one  of  the  boldest  and 
most  expert  of  seamen,  he  and  his  vessel  were  always  ready 
when  there  was  something  to  be  done  of  difficulty  and  peril. 
During  the  three  years  succeeding  the  peace  of  1815,  he  saved 
three  thousand  dollars  a  year ;  so  that,  in  1818,  he  possessed  two 
or  three  of  the  nicest  little  craft  in  the  harbor,  and  a  cash  capital 
of  nine  thousand  dollars. 

The  next  step  of  Captain  Vanderbilt  astonished  both  his  rivals 
and  his  friends.  He  deliberately  abandoned  his  flourishing  busi 
ness,  to  accept  the  post  of  captain  of  a  small  steamboat,  at  a 
salary  of  a  thousand 'dollars  a  year.  By  slow  degrees,  against 
the  opposition  of  the  boatmen,  and  the  terrors  of  the  public, 
steamboats  had  made  their  way ;  until,  in  1817,  ten  years  after 
Fulton's  experimental  trip,  the  long  head  of  Captain  Vanderbilt 
clearly  comprehended  that  the  supremacy  of  sails  was  gone  for- 
ever, and  he  resolved  to  ally  himself  to  the  new  power  before 
being  overcome  by  it.  Besides,  he  protests,  that  in  no  enterprise 
of  his  life  has  his  chief  object  been  the  gain  of  money.  Being 
in  the  business  of  carrying  passengers,  he  desired  to  carry  them 
in  the  best  manner,  and  by  the  best  means.  Business  has  ever 
been  to  him  a  kind  of  game,  and  his  ruling  motive  was  and  is,  to 
play  it  so  as  to  win.  To  carry  his  point,  that  has  been  the  mo- 
tive of  his  business  career ;  but  then  his  point  has  generally 
been  one  which,  being  carried,  brought  money  with  it. 

At  that  day,  passengers  to  Philadelphia  were  conveyed  by 
steamboat  from  New  York  to  New  Brunswick,  where  they  re- 
mained ah1  night,  and  the  next  morning  took  the  stage  for  Tren 


584  COMMODORE  VANDERBILT. 

ton,  whence  they  were  carried  to  Philadelphia  by  steamboat. 
The  proprietor  of  part  of  this  line  was  the  once  celebrated 
Thomas  Gibbons,  a  man  of  enterprise  and  capital.  It  was  in  his 
service  that  Captain  Vanderbilt  spent  the  next  twelve  years  of 
his  life,  commanding  the  steamer  plying  between  New  York  and 
Ne*  Brunswick.  The  hotel  at  New  Brunswick,  where  the  pas- 
sengers passed  the  night,  which  had  never  paid  expenses,  was  let 
to  him  rent  free,  and  under  the  efficient  management  of  Mrs. 
Vanderbilt,  it  became  profitable,  and  afforded  the  passengers  such 
excellent  entertainment  as  to  enhance  the  popularity  of  the  line. 

In  engaging  with  Mr.  Gibbons,  Captain  Vanderbilt  soon  found 
that  he  had  put  his  head  into  a  hornet's  nest.  The  State  of  New 
York  had  granted  to  Fulton  and  Livingston  the  exclusive  right 
of  running  steamboats  in  New  York  waters.  Thomas  Gibbons, 
believing  the  grant  unconstitutional,  as  it  was  afterwards  declared 
by  the  Supreme  Court,  ran  his  boats  in  defiance  of  it,  and  thus 
involved  himself  in  a  long  and  fierce  contest  with  the  authorities 
of  New  York.  The  brunt  of  this  battle  fell  upon  his  new  captain. 
There  was  one  period  when  for  sixty  successive  days  an  attempt 
was  made  to  arrest  him ;  but  the  captain  baffled  every  attempt 
Leaving  his  crew  in  New  Jersey  (for  they  also  were  liable  to 
arrest),  he  would  approach  the  New  York  wharf  with  a  lady  at 
the  helm,  while  he  managed  the  engine ;  and  as  soon  as  the  boat 
was  made  fast  he  concealed  himself  in  the  depths  of  the  vessel. 
At  the  moment  of  starting,  the  officer  (changed  every  day  to 
avoid  recognition)  used  to  present  himself  and  tap  the  wary 
captain  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Let  go  the  line,"  was  his  usual  reply  to  the  summons. 

The  officer,  fearing  to  be  carried  off  to  New  Jersey,  where  a 
retaliatory  act  threatened  him  with  the  State's  prison,  would  jump 
ashore  as  for  life ;  or,  if  carried  off,  would  beg  to  be  put  ashore. 
In  this  way,  and  in  many  others,  the  captain  contrived  to  evade 
the  law.  He  fought  the  State  of  New  York  for  seven  years, 
until,  in  1824,  Chief  Justice  Marshall  pronounced  New  York 
wrong  and  New  Jersey  right.  The  opposition  vainly  attempted 
to  buy  him  off  by  the  offer  of  a  larger  boat. 

"  No,"  replied  the  captain,  "  I  shall  stick  to  Mr.  Gibbous  till  he 
is  through  his  troubles." 


COMMODORE  VANDERBILT.  385 

That  was  the  reason  why  he  remained  so  long  in  the  service 
of  Mr.  Gibbons. 

After  this  war  was  over,  the  genius  of  Captain  Vanderbilt  had 
full  play,  and  he  conducted  the  line  with  so  much  energy  and 
good  sense,  that  it  yielded  an  annual  profit  of  forty  thousand 
dollars.  Gibbons  offered  to  raise  his  salary  to  five  thousand 
dollars  a  year,  but  he  declined  the  offer.  An  acquaintance  once 
asked  him  why  he  refused  a  compensation  that  was  so  manifestly 
just. 

"  I  did  it  on  principle,"  was  his  reply.  "  The  other  captains 
had  but  one  thousand,  and  they  were  already  jealous  enough  of 
me.  Besides,  I  never  cared  for  money.  All  I  ever  have  cared 
for  was  to  carry  my  point." 

A  little  incident  of  these  years  he  has  sometimes  related  to  his 
children.  In  the  cold  January  of  1820,  the  ship  Elizabeth  —  the 
first  ship  ever  sent  to  Africa  by  the  Colonization  Society  — :  lay  at 
the  foot  of  Rector  Street,  with  the  negroes  all  on  board,  frozen  in. 
For  many  days,  her  crew,  aided  by  the  crew  of  the  frigate  Siam, 
her  convoy,  had  been  cutting  away  at  the  ice ;  but,  as  more  ice 
formed  at  night  than  could  be  removed  by  day,  the  prospect  of 
getting  to  sea  was  unpromising.  One  afternoon,  Captain  Vander- 
bilt joined  the  crowd  of  spectators. 

"  They  are  going  the  wrong  way  to  work,"  he  carelessly  re- 
marked, as  he  turned  to  go  home.  "  I  could  get  her  out  in  one 
day." 

These  words,  from  a  man  who  was  known  to  mean  all  he  said, 
made  an  impression  on  a  bystander,  who  reported  them  to  the 
anxious  agent  of  the  Society.  The  agent  called  upon  him. 

"  What  did  you  mean,  Captain,  by  saying  that  you  could  get 
out  the  ship  in  one  day  ?  " 

"  Just  what  I  said." 

"  "What  will  you  get  her  out  for  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  dollars." 

"  I  '11  give  it     "When  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Have  a  steamer  to-morrow,  at  twelve  o'clock,  ready  to  tow 
her  out.  I  '11  have  her  clear  in  time." 

That  same  evening,  at  six,  he  was  on  the  spot  with  five  men, 
17  T 


886  COMMODORE  \ANDERBILT. 

three  pine  boards,  and  a  small  anchor.  The  difficulty  was  that 
beyond  the  ship  there  were  two  hundred  yards  of  ice  too  thin  to 
bear  a  man.  The  captain  placed  his  anchor  on  one  of  his 
boards,  and  pushed  it  out  as  far  as  he  could  reach  ;  then  placed 
another  board  upon  the  ice,  laid  down  upon  it,  and  gave  his  an- 
chor another  push.  Then  he  put  down  his  third  board,  and  used 
that  as  a  means  of  propulsion.  In  this  way  he  worked  forward  to 
near  the  edge  of  the  thin  ice,  where  the  anchor  broke  through 
and  sunk.  With  the  line  attached  to  it,  he  hauled  a  boat  to  the 
outer  edge,  and  then  began  cutting  a  passage  for  the  ship. 

At  eleven  the  next  morning  she  was  clear.  At  twelve  she  was 
towed  into  the  stream. 

In  1829,  after  twelve  years  of  service  as  captain  of  a  steam- 
boat, being  then  thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  having  saved  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  he  announced  to  his  employer  his  intention  to 
set  up  for  himself.  Mr.  Gibbons  was  aghast.  He  declared  that 
he  could  not  carry  on  the  line  without  his  aid,  and  finding  him 
resolute,  said :  — 

"  There,  Vanderbilt,  take  all  this  property,  and  pay  me  for  it 
as  you  make  the  money." 

This  splendid  offer  he  thankfully  but  firmly  declined.  He  did 
so  chiefly  because  he  knew  the  men  with  whom  he  would  have 
had  to  co-operate,  and  foresaw,  that  he  and  they  could  never 
work  comfortably  together.  He  wanted  a  free  field. 

The  little  Caroline,  seventy  feet  long,  that  afterward  plunged 
over  Niagara  Falls,  was  the  first  steamboat  ever  built  by  him. 
His  progress  as  a  steamboat  owner  was  not  rapid  for  some  years. 
The  business  was  in  the  hands  of  powerful  companies  and 
wealthy  individuals,  and  he,  the  new-comer,  running  a  few  small 
boats  on  short  routes,  labored  under  serious  disadvantages. 
Formidable  attempts  were  made  to  run  him  off  the  river ;  but, 
prompt  to  retaliate,  he  made  vigorous  inroads  into  the  enemy's 
domain,  and  kept  up  an  opposition  so  keen  as  to  compel  a  com- 
promise in  every  instance.  There  was  a  time,  during  his  famous 
contest  with  the  Messrs.  Stevens  of  Hoboken,  when  he  had  spent 
every  dollar  he  possessed,  and  when  a  few  days  more  of  opposi- 
tion would  have  compelled  him  to  give  up  the  strife.  Nothing 


COMMODORE  VANDERBILT.  387 

saved  him  but  the  belief,  on  the  part  of  his  antagonists,  that 
Gibbons  was  backing  him.  It  was  not  the  case ;  he  had  no 
backer.  But  this  error,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  induced  his 
opponents  to  treat  for  a  compromise,  and  he  was  saved. 

Gradually  he  made  his  way  to  the  control  of  the  steamboat  m- 
terest.  He  has  owned,  in  whole  or  in  part,  a  hundred  steam 
vessels.  His  various  opposition  lines  have  permanently  reduced 
fares  one  half.  Superintending  himself  the  construction  of  every 
boat,  having  a  perfect  practical  knowledge  of  the  business  in  its 
every  detail,  selecting  his  captains  well  and  paying  them  justly,  he 
has  never  lost  a  vessel  by  fire,  explosion,  or  wreck.  He  possesses, 
in  a  remarkable  degree,  the  talent  of  selecting  the  right  man 
for  a  place,  and  of  inspiring  him  with  zeal.  Every  man  who 
serves  him  knows  that  he  will  be  sustained  against  all  intrigue 
and  all  opposition,  and  that  he  has  nothing  to  fear  so  long  as  he 
does  his  duty. 

The  later  events  in  his  career  are,  in  some  degree,  known  to 
the  public.  Every  one  remembers  his  magnificent  cruise  in  the 
North  Star,  and  how,  on  returning  to  our  harbor,  his  first  salute 
was  to  the  cottage  of  his  venerable  mother  on  the  Staten  Island 
shore.  To  her,  also,  on  landing,  he  first  paid  his  respects. 
Every  one  knows  that  he  presented  to  the  government  the 
steamer  that  bears  his  name,  at  a  time  when  she  was  earning  him 
two  thousand  dollars  a  day.  He  has  given  to  the  war  something 
more  precious  than  a  ship :  his  youngest  son,  Captain  Vander- 
bilt,  the  most  athletic  youth  that  ever  graduated  at  West  Point, 
and  one  of  the  finest  young  men  in  the  country.  His  friends  tell 
us  that,  on  his  twenty-second  birthday  he  lifted  nine  hundred  and 
eight  pounds.  But  his  giant  strength  did  not  save  him.  The 
fatigues  and  miasmas  of  the  Corinth  campaign  planted  in  his 
magnificent  frame  the  seeds  of  death.  He  died  a  year  ago,  after  a 
long  struggle  with  disease,  to  the  inexpressible  grief  of  his  family. 

Daring  the  last  two  or  three  years,  Commodore  Vanderbilt  has 
been  withdrawing  his  capital  from  steamers  and  investing  it  in 
railroads.  It  is  this  fact  that  has  given  rise  to  the  impression 
.hat  he  has  been  playing  a  deep  game  in  stock  speculation. 
No  such  thing.  He  has  never  speculated ;  he  disapproves  of 


888  COMMODORE  VANDERBILT. 

and  despises  speculation ;  and  has  invariably  warned  his  sonk 
against  it  as  the  pursuit  of  adventurers  and  gamblers.  "  Why, 
then,"  "Wall  Street  may  ask,  "  has  he  bought  almost  the  whole 
stock  of  the  Harlem  railroad,  which  pays  no  dividends,  run- 
ning it  up  to  prices  that  seem  ridiculous?"  We  can  answer 
this  question  very  simply  :  he  bought  the  Harlem  railroad  to 
keep.  He  bought  it  as  an  investment.  Looking  several  inches 
beyond  his  nose,  and  several  days  ahead  of  to-day,  he  deliberately 
concluded  that  the  Harlem  road,  managed  as  he  could  manage  it, 
would  be,  in  the  course  of  time,  what  Wall  Street  itself  would  call 
"  a  good  thing."  We  shall  see,  by  and  by,  whether  he  judged 
correctly.  What  was  the  New  Jersey  railroad  worth  when  he 
and  a  few  friends  went  over  one  day  and  bought  it  at  auction  ? 
Less  than  nothing.  The  stock  is  now  held  at  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five. 

After  taking  the  cream  of  the  steamboat  business  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  Commodore  Vanderbilt  has  now  become  the  largest 
holder  of  railroad  stock  in  the  country.  If  to-morrow  balloons 
shojild  supersede  railroads,  we  should  doubtless  find  him  "  in " 
balloons. 

Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than  the  ease  with  which  great 
business  men  conduct  the  most  extensive  and  complicated  affairs. 
At  ten  or  eleven  in  the  morning,  the  Commodore  rides  from  his 
mansion  in  Washington  Place  in  a  light  wagon,  drawn  by  one  of 
his  favorite  horses,  to  his  office  in  Bowling  Green,  where,  in  two 
hours,  aided  by  a  single  clerk,  he  transacts  the  business  of  the 
day,  returning  early  in  the  afternoon  to  take  his  drive  on  the 
road.  He  despises  show  and  ostentation  in  every  form.  No 
lackey  attends  him ;  he  holds  the  reins  himself.  With  an  estate 
of  forty  millions  to  manage,  nearly  all  actively  employed  in  iron 
works  and  railroads,  he  keeps  scarcely  any  books,  but  carries  all 
his  affairs  in  his  head,  and  manages  them  without  the  least  anxi- 
ety or  apparent  effort. 

We  are  informed  by  one  who  knows  him  better  almost  than 
any  one  else,  that  he  owes  his  excellent  health  chiefly  to  his  love 
of  horses.  He  possesses  the  power  of  leaving  his  business  in  his 
office,  and  never  thinking  of  it  during  his  hours  of  recreation 


COMMODORE  VANDERBILT.  389 

Cut  on  the  road  behind  a  fast  team,  or  seated  at  whist  at  the 
Club- House,  he  enters  gayly  into  the  humors  of  the  hour.  He  is 
rigid  on  one  point  only ,  —  not  to  talk  or  hear  of  business  out  of 
business  hours. 

Being  asked  one  day  what  he  considered  to  be  the  secret  of 
success  in  business,  he  replied  :  — 

"  Secret  ?  There  is  no  secret  about  it.  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  attend  to  your  business  and  go  ahead." 

"With  all  deference  to  such  an  eminent  authority,  we  must  be 
allowed  to  think  that  that  is  not  the  whole  of  the  matter.  Three 
things  seem  essential  to  success  in  business :  1.  To  know  your 
business.  2.  To  attend  to  it.  3.  To  keep  down  expenses  until 
your  fortune  is  safe  from  business  perils. 

On  another  occasion  he  replied  with  more  point  to  a  similar 
question :  — 

"  The  secret  of  my  success  is  this :  I  never  tell  what  I  am 
going  to  do  till  I  have  done  it." 

He  is,  indeed,  a  man  of  little  speech.  Gen.  Grant  himself  is 
not  more  averse  to  oratory  than  he.  Once,  in  London,  at  a 
banquet,  his  health  was  given,  and  he  was  urged  to  respond. 
All  that  could  be  extorted  from  him  was  the  following :  — 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  never  made  a  fool  of  myself  in  my  life, 
and  I  am  not  going  to  begin  now.  Here  is  a  friend  of  mine  (his 
lawyer)  who  can  talk  all  day.  He  will  do  my  speaking." 

Nevertheless,  he  knows  how  to  express  his  meaning  with  sin- 
gular clearness,  force,  and  brevity,  both  by  the  tongue  and  by  the 
pen.  Some  of  his  business  letters,  dictated  by  him  to  a  clerk,  are 
models  of  that  kind  of  composition.  He  is  also  master  of  an  art 
still  more  difficult,  —  that  of  not  saying  what  he  does  not  wish  to 
say. 

As  a  business  man  he  is  even  more  prudent  than  he  is  bold. 
He  has  sometimes  remarked,  that  it  has  never  been  in  the  power 
of  any  man  or  set  of  men  to  prevent  his  keeping  an  engagement. 
If,  for  example,  he  should  bind  himself  to  pay  a  million  of  dollars 
on  the  first  of  May,  he  would  at  once  provide  for  fulfilling  his  en- 
gagement in  such  a  manner  that  no  failure  on  the  part  of  others, 
no  contingency,  private  or  public,  could  prevent  his  doing  it.  In 


S90  COMMODORE   VANDERBILT. 

other  words,  he  would  have  the  money  where  he  could  be  sure 
of  finding  it  on  the  day. 

No  one  ever  sees  the  name  of  Cornelius  Vanderbilt  on  a  sub- 
scription paper,  nor  ever  will.  In  his  charities,  which  are  numer- 
ous and  liberal,  he  exhibits  the  reticence  which  marks  his  con- 
duct as  a  man  of  business.  His  object  is  to  render  real  and  per- 
manent service  to  deserving  objects  ;  but  to  the  host  of  miscella- 
neous beggars  that  pervade  our  places  of  business  he  is  not  acces- 
sible. The  last  years  of  many  a  good  old  soul,  whom  he  knew 
in  his  youth,  have  been  made  happy  by  a  pension  from  him.  But 
of  all  this  not  a  syllable  ever  escapes  his  lips. 

He  has  now  nearly  completed  his  seventy-first  year.  His 
frame  is  still  erect  and  vigorous  ;  and,  as  a  business  man,  he  has 
not  a  living  superior.  Every  kind  of  success  has  attended  him 
through  life.  Thirteen  children  have  been  born  to  him,  —  nine 
daughters  and  four  sons,  —  nearly  all  of  whom  are  living  and  are 
parents.  One  of  his  grandsons  has  recently  come  of  age.  At  the 
celebration  of  his  golden  wedding,  three  years  ago,  more  than  a 
hundred  and  forty  of  his  descendants  and  relations  assembled  at 
his  house.  On  that  joyful  occasion,  the  Commodore  presented  to 
his  wife  a  beautiful  little  golden  steamboat,  with  musical  works  in- 
stead of  an  engine,  —  emblematic  at  once  of  his  business  career 
and  the  harmony  of  his  home.  If  ever  he  boasts  of  anything  ap- 
pertaining to  him,  it  is  when  he  is  speaking  of  the  manly  virtues 
of  his  son  lost  in  the  war,  or  when  he  says  that  his  wife  is  the 
finest  woman  of  her  age  in  the  city. 

Commodore  Vanderbilt  is  one  of  the  New  "World's  strong  men. 
His  career  is  one  which  young  men  who  aspire  to  lead  in  practi- 
cal affairs  may  study  with  profit. 


THEODOSIA   BURR. 


THEODOSIA    BURR. 


NEW  YORK  does  well  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the 
day  when  the  British  troops  evacuated  the  city ;  for  it  was 
in  truth  the  birthday  of  all  that  we  now  mean  by  the  City  ol 
New  York.  One  hundred  and  seventy-four  years  had  elapsed 
since  Hendrick  Hudson  landed  upon  the  shores  of  Manhattan ; 
but  the  town  could  only  boast  a  population  of  twenty-three  thou- 
sand. In  ten  years  the  population  doubled ;  in  twenty  years 
trebled.  Washington  Irving  was  a  baby  seven  months  old,  at  his 
father's  house  in  William  Street,  on  Evacuation  Day,  the  25th  of 
November,  1783.  On  coming  of  age  he  found  himself  the  inhabi- 
tant of  a  city  containing  a  population  of  seventy  thousand.  When 
he  died,  at  the  age  of  seventy -five,  more  than  a  million  of  people 
inhabited  the  congregation  of  cities  which  form  the  metropolis  of 
America. 

The  beginnings  of  great  things  are  always  interesting  to  us. 
New-Yorkers,  at  least,  cannot  read  without  emotion  the  plain, 
matter-of-fact  accounts  in  the  old  newspapers  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  city  of  their  pride  changed  masters.  Journalism  has 
altered  its  modes  of  procedure  since  that  memorable  day.  No 
array  of  headings  in  large  type  called  the  attention  of  readers  to 
the  details  of  this  great  event  in  the  history  of  their  town,  and  no 
editorial  article  in  extra  leads  commented  upon  it.  The  news- 
papers printed  the  merest  programme  of  the  proceedings,  with 
scarcely  a  comment  of  their  own ;  and,  having  done  that,  they 
felt  that  their  duty  was  done,  for  no  subsequent  issue  contains  an 
allusion  to  the  subject.  Perhaps  the  reader  will  be  gratified  by 
a  perusal  of  the  account  of  the  evacuation  as  given  in  Eivu>gton'f» 
Gazette  of  November  26,  1783. 
17* 


394  THEODOSIA  B 

New  York,  November  26 :  —  Yesterday  in  the  Morning  the  American 
Troops  marched  from  Haerlem,  to  the  Bowery-Lane  —  They  remained 
there  until  about  One  o'Clock,  when  the  British  Troops  left  the  Post? 
in  the  Bowery,  and  the  American  Troops  marched  into  and  took  Po9 
session  of  the  City,  in  the  following  Order,  viz. 

1.  A  Corps  of  Dragoons. 

2.  Advance  Guard  of  Light  Infantry. 

3.  A  Corps  of  Artillery. 

4.  Battalion  of  Light  Infantry. 

5.  Battalion  of  Massachusetts  Troops. 

6.  Rear  Guard. 

After  the  Troops  had  taken  Possession  of  the  City,  the  GENERAL 
[Washington]  and  GOVERNOR  [George  Clinton]  made  their  Public 
Entry  in  the  following  Manner : 

1.  Their  Excellencies  the  General  and  Governor,  with  their  Suites, 
on  Horseback. 

2.  The  Lieutenant- Governor,  and  the  Members  of  the  Council,  fo< 
the  Temporary  Government  of  the  Southern  District,  four  a-breast. 

8.  Major  General  Knox,  and  the  Officers  of  the  Army,  eight  a-breast 

4.  Citizens  on  Horseback,  eight  a-breast. 

5.  The  Speaker  of  the  Assembly,  and  Citizens,  on  Foot,  eight  a- 
breast. 

Their  Excellencies  the  Governor  and  Commander  in  Chief  were  es- 
corted by  a  Body  of  West-Chester  Light  Horse,  under  the  command 
of  Captain  Delavan. 

The  Procession  proceeded  down  Queen  Street  [now  Pearl],  and 
through  the  Broadway,  to  Cape's  Tavern. 

The  Governor  gave  a  public  Dinner  art  Fraunces's  Tavern ;  at 
which  the  Commander  in  Chief  and  other  General  Officers  were  pres- 
ent. 

After  Dinner,  the  following  Toasts  were  drank  by  the  Company : 

1.  The  United  States  of  America, 

2.  His  most  Christian  Majesty. 
8.  The  United  Netherlands. 

4.  The  king  of  Sweden. 

5.  The  American  Army. 

6.  The  Fleet  and  Armies  of  France,  which  have  served  in  America. 

7.  The  Memory  of  those  Heroes  who  have  fallen  for  our  Freedom. 

8.  May  our  Country  be  grateful  to  her  military  children. 

9.  May  Justice  support  what  Courage  has  gained. 

10.  The  Vindicators  of  the  BJghts  of  Mankind  in  every  Quarter  of 
the  Globe. 


THEODOSIA   BURR.  396 

II.  May  America  be  an  Asylum  to  the  persecuted  of  the  Earth. 

12  May  a  close  Union  of  the  States  guard  the  Temple  they  have 
erected  to  Liberty. 

13.  May  the  Remembrance  of  THIS  DAY  be  a  Lesson  to  Princes. 

The  arrangement  and  whole  conduct  of  this  march,  with  the  tran- 
quillity which  succeeded  it,  through  the  day  and  night,  was  admirable ! 
and  the  grateful  citizens  will  ever  feel  the  most  affectionate  impressions, 
from  that  elegant  and  efficient  disposition  which  prevailed  through  the 
whole  event. 

Such  was  the  journalism  of  that  primitive  day.  The  sedate 
Rivington,  for  so  many  years  the  Tory  organ,  was  in  no  humor, 
we  may  suppose,  to  chronicle  the  minor  events  of  the  occasion, 
even  if  he  had  not  considered  them  beneath  the  dignity  of  his 
vocation.  He  says  nothing  of  the  valiant  matron  in  Chatham 
Row  who,  in  the  impatience  of  her  patriotism,  hoisted  the  Ameri- 
can flag  over  her  door  two  hours  before  the  stipulated  moment, 
noon,  and  defended  it  against  a  British  provost  officer  with  her 
broomstick.  Nor  does  he  allude  to  the  great  scene  at  the  princi- 
pal flag-staff,  which  the  retiring  garrison  had  plentifully  greased, 
and  from  which  they  had  removed  the  blocks  and  halyards,  in 
order  to  retard  the  hoisting  of  the  stars  and  stripes.  He  does 
not  tell  us  how  a  sailor-boy,  with  a  line  around  his  waist  and  a 
pocket  full  of  spikes,  hammered  his  way  to  the  top  of  the  staff, 
and  restored  the  tackling  by  which  the  flag  was  flung  to  the 
breeze  before  the  barges  containing  the  British  rear-guard  had 
reached  the  fleet.  It  was  a  sad  day  for  Mr.  Rivington,  and  he 
may  be  excused  for  not  dwelling  upon  its  incidents  longer  than 
Btern  duty  demanded. 

The  whole  State  of  New  York  had  been  waiting  impatiently 
for  the  evacuation  of  the  City.  Many  hundreds  of  the  old  Whig 
inhabitants,  who  had  fled  at  the  entrance  of  the  English  troops 
seven  years  before,  were  eager  to  come  again  into  possession  of 
their  homes  and  property,  and  resume  their  former  occupations. 
Many  new  enterprises  waited  only  for  the  departure  of  the  troops 
to  be  entered  upon.  A  large  number  of  young  men  were  look- 
ing to  New  York  as  the  scene  of  their  future  career.  Albany, 
which  had  served  as  the  temporary  capital  of  the  State,  was  full 


396  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

of  lawyers,  law-students,  retired  soldiers,  merchants,  and  mechan- 
ics, who  were  prepared  to  remove  to  New  York  as  soon  as  Riv- 
ington's  Gazette  should  inform  them  that  the  British  had  really 
left,  and  General  Washington  taken  possession.  As  in  these 
days  certain  promises  to  pay  are  to  be  fulfilled  six  months  after 
the  United  States  shall  have  acknowledged  the  independence  of 
a  certain  Confederacy,  so  at  that  time  it  was  a  custom  for  leases 
and  other  compacts  to  be  dated  from  "  the  day  on  which  the  Brit- 
ish troops  shall  leave  New  York."  Among  the  young  men  in 
Albany  who  were  intending  to  repair  to  the  city  were  two  retired 
officers  of  distinction,  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON,  a  student  at  law, 
and  AARON  BURR,  then  in  the  second  year  of  his  practice  at  the 
bar.  JAMES  KENT  and  EDWARD  LIVINGSTON  were  also  stu- 
dents of  law  in  Albany  at  that  time.  The  old  Tory  lawyers  be- 
ing all  exiled  or  silenced,  there  was  a  promising  field  in  New 
York  for  young  advocates  of  talent,  and  these  two  young  gentle- 
men had  both  contracted  marriages  which  necessitated  speedy 
professional  gains.  Hamilton  had  won  the  daughter  of  General 
Schuyler.  Burr  was  married  to  the  widow  of  a  British  officer, 
whose  fortune  was  a  few  hundred  pounds  and  two  fine  strapping 
boys  fourteen  and  sixteen  years  of  age. 

And  Burr  was  himself  a  father.  THEODOSIA,  "  his  only  child," 
was  born  at  Albany  in  the  spring  of  1783.  "When  the  family  re- 
moved to  New  York  in  the  following  winter,  and  took  up  their 
abode  in  Maiden  Lane,  —  "  the  rent  to  commence  when  the  troops 
leave  the  city, "  —  she  was  an  engaging  infant  of  seven  or  eight 
months.  We  may  infer  something  of  the  circumstances  and 
prospects  of  her  father,  when  we  know  that  he  had  ventured  upon 
a  house  of  which  the  rent  was  two  hundred  pounds  a  year.  We 
find  him  removing,  a  year  or  two  after,  to  a  mansion  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Cedar  and  Nassau  streets,  the  garden  and  grapery  of  which 
weie  among  the  finest  in  the  thickly  settled  portion  of  the  city. . 
Fifty  j'cars  after,  he  had  still  an  office  within  a  very  few  yards  of 
the  same  spot,  though  all  trace  of  the  garden  of  Theodosia's  child- 
hood had  long  ago  disappeared.  She  was  a  child  of-  affluence. 
Not  till  she  had  left  her  father's  house  did  a  shadow  of  misfor- 
tune darken  its  portals.  Abundance  and  elegance  surrounded 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  397 

her  from  her  infancy,  and  whatever  advantages  in  education  and 
training  wealth  can  produce  for  a  child  she  had  in  profusion.  At 
the  same  time  her  father's  vigilant  stoicism  guarded  her  from  the 
evils  attendant  upon  a  too  easy  acquisition  of  things  pleasant  and 
desirable. 

She  was  born  into  a  happy  home.  Even  if  we  had  not  the 
means  of  knowing  something  of  the  character  of  her  mother,  we 
might  still  infer  that  she  must  have  possessed  qualities  singularly 
attractive  to  induce  a  man  in  the  position  of  Burr  to  undertake 
the  charge  of  a  family  at  the  outset  of  his  career.  She  was 
neither  handsome  nor  young,  nor  had  she  even  the  advantage  of 
good  health.  A  scar  disfigured  her  face.  Burr,  —  the  brilliant 
and  celebrated  Burr,  —  heir  of  an  honored  name,  had  linked  his 
rising  fortunes  with  an  invalid  and  her  boys.  The  event  most 
abundantly  justified  his  choice,  for  in  all  the  fair  island  of  Man- 
hattan there  was  not  a  happier  family  than  his,  nor  one  in  which 
happiness  was  more  securely  founded  in  the  diligent  discharge  of 
duty.  The  twelve  years  of  his  married  life  were  his  brightest 
and  best ;  and  among  the  last  words  he  ever  spoke  were  a  pointed 
•declaration  that  his  wife  was  the  best  woman  and  the  finest  lady 
Me  had  ever  known.  It  was  her  cultivated  mind  that  drew  him 
*o  her.  "It  was  a  knowledge  of  your  mind,"  he  once  wrote  her, 
"  which  first  inspired  me  with  a  respect  for  that  of  your  sex, 
and  with  some  regret  I  confess,  that  the  ideas  you  have  often 
heard  me  express  in  favor  of  female  intellectual  power  are  founded 
in  what  I  have  imagined  more  than  in  what  I  have  seen,  except 
in  you." 

In  those  days  an  educated  woman  was  among  the  rarest  of 
rarities.  The  wives  of  many  of  our  most  renowned  revolutionary 
leaders  were  surprisingly  illiterate.  Except  the  noble  wife  of 
John  Adams,  whose  letters  form  so  agreeable  an  oasis  in  the  pub- 
lished correspondence  of  the  time,  it  would  be  difficult  to  men 
tion  the  name  of  one  lady  of  the  revolutionary  period  who  could 
have  been  a  companion  to  the  mv*d  of  a  man  of  culture.  Mrs. 
Burr,  on  the  contrary,  was  the  equal  of  her  husband  in  literary 
discernment,  and  his  superior  in  moral  judgment.  Her  remarks, 
in  her  letters  to  her  husband,  upon  the  popular  authors  of  the 


598  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

day,  Chesterfield,  Rousseau,  Voltaire,  and  others,  show  that  she 
could  correct  as  well  as  sympathize  with  her  husband's  taste. 
She  relished  all  of  Chesterfield  except  the  "  indulgence,"  which 
Burr  thought  essential.  She  had  a  weakness  for  Rousseau,  but 
was  not  deluded  by  his  sentimentality.  She  enjoyed  Gibbon 
without  stumbling  at  his  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  chapters. 

The  home  of  Theodosia  presents  to  us  a  pleasing  scene  of  vir- 
tuous industry.  The  master  of  the  house,  always  an  indomitable 
worker,  was  in  the  full  tide  of  a  successful  career  at  the  bar. 
His  two  step-sons  were  employed  in  his  office,  and  one  of  them 
frequently  accompanied  him  in  his  journeys  to  distant  courts  as 
clerk  or  amanuensis.  No  father  could  have  been  more  generous 
or  more  thoughtful  than  he  was  for  these  fatherless  youths,  and 
they  appeared  to  have  cherished  for  him  the  liveliest  affection. 
Mrs.  Burr  shared  in  the  labors  of  the  office  during  the  absence 
of  her  lord.  All  the  affairs  of  this  happy  family  moved  in  har- 
mony, for  love  presided  at  their  board,  inspired  their  exertion?, 
and  made  them  one.  One  circumstance  alone  interrupted  their 
felicity,  and  that  was  the  frequent  absence  of  Burr  from  home  on 
business  at  country  courts  ;  but  even  these  journeys  served  to 
call  forth  from  all  the  family  the  warmest  effusions  of  affection. 

"  What  language  can  express  the  joy,  the  gratitude  of  Theodosia ! " 
writes  Mrs.  Burr  to  her  absent  husband,  in  the  fifth  year  of  their  mar- 
riage. "  Stage  after  stage  without  a  line.  Thy  usual  punctuality  gavo 
room  for  every  fear ;  various  conjectures  filled  every  breast.  One  of 
our  sons  was  to  have  departed  to-day  in  quest  of  the  best  of  friends 
and  fathers.  This  morning  we  waited  the  stage  with  impatience. 
Shrouder  went  frequently  before  it  arrived ;  at  length  returned  —  no 
letter.  We  were  struck  dumb  with  disappointment.  Barton  [eldest 
son]  set  out  to  inquire  who  were  the  passengers ;  in  a  very  few  minutes 
returned  exulting  —  a  packet  worth  the  treasures  of  the  universe. 
Joy  brightened  every  face;  all  expressed  their  past  anxieties,  their 
present  happiness.  To  enjoy  was  the  first  result.  Each  made  choice 
of  what  they  could  best  relish.  Porter,  sweet  wine,  chocolate,  and 
sweetmeats  made  the  most  delightful  repast  that  could  be  enjoyed 
without  thee.  The  servants  were  made  to  feel  their  lord  was  well ;  are 
at  this  instant  toasting  his  health  and  bounty.  While  the  boys  are 
obeying  thy  dear  commands,  thy  Theodosia  flies  to  speak  her  heartfelt 


THEODOSIA  BURB.  399 

ioy  —  her  Aaron  safe  —  mistress  of  the  heart  she  adores,  can  she  ask 
more  ?     Has  Heaven  more  to  grant  ?  " 

"What  a  pleasing  picture  of  a  happy  family  circle  is  this,  and 
how  rarely  are  the  perils  of  a  second  marriage  so  completely 
overcome !  It  was  in  such  a  warm  and  pleasant  nest  as  this  that 
Theodosia  Burr  passed  the  years  of  her  childhood. 

Charles  Lamb  used  to  say  that  babies  had  no  right  to  our  regard 
merely  as  babies,  but  that  every  child  had  a  character  of  its  own 
by  which  it  must  stand  or  fall  in  the  esteem  of  disinterested  ob- 
servers. Theodosia  was  a  beautiful  and  forward  child,  formed  to 
be  the  pet  and  pride  of  a  household.  "  Your  dear  little  Theo," 
wrote  her  mother  in  her  third  year,  "  grows  the  most  engaging 
child  you  ever  saw.  It  is  impossible  to  see  her  with  indifference." 
From  her  earliest  years  she  exhibited  that  singular  fondness  foi 
her  father  which  afterward  became  the  ruling  passion  of  her  life, 
and  which  was  to  undergo  the  severest  tests  that  filial  affection 
has  ever  known.  When  she  was  but  three  years  of  age  her  moth- 
er would  write :  "  Your  dear  little  daughter  seeks  you  twenty 
times  a  day ;  calls  you  to  your  meals,  and  will  not  suffer  your 
chair  to  be  filled  by  any  of  the  family."  And  again :  "  Your 
dear  little  Theodosia  cannot  hear  you  spoken  of  without  an  ap- 
parent melancholy ;  insomuch  that  her  nurse  is  obliged  to  exert 
her  invention  to  divert  her,  and  myself  avoid  to  mention  you  in 
her  presence.  She  was  one  whole  day  indifferent  to  everything 
but  your  name.  Her  attachment  is  not  of  a  common  nature." 

Here  was  an  inviting  opportunity  for  developing  an  engaging 
.nfant  into  that  monstrous  thing,  a  spoiled  child.  She  was  an 
only  daughter  in  a  family  of  which  all  the  members  but  herself 
were  adults,  and  the  head  of  which  was  among  the  busiest  of  men. 

But  Aaron  Burr,  amidst  all  the  toils  of  his  profession,  and  in 
§pite  of  the  distractions  of  political  strife,  made  the  education  of 
his  daughter  the  darling  object  of  his  existence.  Hunters  tell  us 
that  pointers  and  hounds  inherit  the  instinct  which  renders  them 
such  valuable  allies  in  the  pursuit  of  game ;  so  that  the  offspring 
of  a  trained  dog  acquires  the  arts  of  the  chase  with  very  little  in- 
struction. Burr's  father  was  one  of  the  most  zealous  and  skilful 
of  schoolmasters,  and  from  him  he  appears  to  have  derived  that 


400  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

pedagogic  cast  of  character  which  led  him,  all  his  life,  to  take  sc 
much  interest  in  the  training  of  proteges.  There  was  never  a 
time  in  his  whole  career  when  he  had  not  some  youth  upon  his 
hands  to  whose  education  he  was  devoted.  His  system  of  train- 
ing, with  many  excellent  points,  was  radically  defective.  Its  de- 
fects are  sufficiently  indicated  when  we  say  that  it  was  pagan, 
not  Christian.  Plato,  Socrates,  Cato,  and  Cicero  might  have 
pronounced  it  good  and  sufficient:  St.  John,  St.  Augustine,  and 
all  the  Christian  host  would  have  lamented  it  as  fatally  defective. 
But  if  Burr  educated  his  child  as  though  she  were  a  Roman  girl, 
her  mother  was  with  her  during  the  first  eleven  years  of  her  life, 
to  supply,  in  some  degree,  what  was  wanting  in  the  instructions 
of  her  father. 

Burr  was  a  stoic.  He  cultivated  hardness.  Fortitude  and 
fidelity  were  his  favorite  virtues.  The  seal  which  he  used  in  his 
correspondence  with  his  intimate  friends,  and  with  them  only,  was 
descriptive  of  his  character  and  prophetic  of  his  destiny.  It  was 
a  Rock,  solitary  in  the  midst  of  a  tempestuous  ocean,  and  bore  the 
inscription,  " Nee  jlatu  nee  fluctu"  —  neither  by  wind  nor  by 
wave.  It  was  his  principle  to  steel  himself  against  the  inevitable 
evils  of  life.  If  we  were  asked  to  select  from  his  writings  the 
sentence  which  contains  most  of  his  characteristic  way  of  think- 
ing, it  would  be  one  which  he  wrote  in  his  twenty-fourth  year  to 
his  future  wife :  "  That  mind  is  truly  great  which  can  bear  with 
equanimity  the  trifling  and  unavoidable  vexations  of  life,  and  be 
affected  only  by  those  which  determine  our  substantial  bliss." 
He  utterly  despised  all  complaining,  even  of  the  greatest  calam- 
ities. He  even  experienced  a  kind  of  proud  pleasure  in  endur- 
ing the  fierce  obloquy  of  his  later  years.  One  day,  near  the 
close  of  his  life,  when  a  friend  had  told  him  of  some  new  scandal 
respecting  his  moral  conduct,  he  said  :  "  That 's  right,  my  child, 
tell  me  what  they  say.  I  like  to  know  what  the  public  say  of 
me,  —  the  great  public!"  Such  words  he  would  utter  without 
the  slightest  bitterness,  speaking  of  the  great  public  as  a  humor- 
ous old  grandfather  might  of  a  wayward,  foolish,  good  little  child. 

So,  at  the  dawn  of  a  career  which  promised  nothing  but  glory 
and  prosperity,  surrounded  by  all  the  appliances  of  ease  and 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  401 

pleasure,  he  was  solicitous  to  teach  his  child  to  do  and  to  endure. 
He  would  have  her  accustomed  to  sleep  alone,  and  to  go  about 
the  house  in  the  dark.  Her  breakfast  was  of  bread  and  milk. 
He  was  resolute  in  exacting  the  less  agreeable  tasks,  such  as 
arithmetic.  He  insisted  upon  regularity  of  hours.  Upon  going 
away  upon  a  journey  he  would  leave  written  orders  for  her 
tutors,  detailing  the  employments  of  each  day ;  and,  during  his 
absence,  a  chief  topic  of  his  letters  was  the  lessons  of  the  chil- 
dren. Children,  —  for,  that  his  Theodo?ia  might  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  companion  in  her  studies,  he  adopted  the  little  Na- 
talie, a  French  child,  whom  he  reared  to  womanhood  in  his 
house.  "  The  letters  of  our  dear  children,"  he  would  write, 
"  are  a  feast.  To  hear  that  they  are  employed,  th&t  no  time  is 
absolutely  wasted,  is  the  most  flattering  of  anything  that  could 
be  told  me  of  them.  It  insures  their  affection,  or  is  the  best 
evidence  of  it.  It  insures  in  its  consequences  everything  I  am 
ambitious  of  in  them.  Endeavor  to  preserve  regularity  of  hours  ; 
it  conduces  exceedingly  to  industry."  And  his  wife  would  an- 
swer :  "  I  really  believe,  my  dear,  that  few  parents  can  boast 
of  children  whose  minds  are  so  prone  to  virtue.  I  see  the  re- 
ward of  our  assiduity  with  inexpressible  delight,  with  a  gratitude 
few  experience.  My  Aaron,  they  have  grateful  hearts."  Or 
thus:  "Theo  [seven  years  old]  ciphers  from  five  in  the  morning 
until  eight,  and  also  the  same  hours  in  the  evening.  This  pre- 
vents our  riding  at  those  hours." 

When  Theodosia  was  ten  years  old,  Mary  "Wbllstonecraft's 
eloquent  little  book,  "  A  Vindication  of  the  Rights  of  Woman," 
fell  into  Burr's  hands.  He  was  so  powerfully  struck  by  it  that 
he  sat  up  nearly  all  night  reading  it.  He  showed  it  to  all  his 
friends.  "  Is  it  owing  to  ignorance  or  prejudice,"  he  wrote, 
"  that  I  have  not  yet  met  a  single  person  who  had  discovered  or 
would  allow  the  merit  of  this  work  ? "  The  work,  indeed,  was 
fifty  years  in  advance  of  the  time ;  for  it  anticipated  all  that  is 
rational  in  the  opinions  respecting  the  position  and  education  of 
women  which  are  now  held  by  the  ladies  who  are  stigmatized  as 
the  Strong-minded,  as  well  as  by  John  Mill,  Herbert  Spencer, 
gnd  other  economists  of  the  modern  school  It  demanded  fair 


402  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

play  for  the  understanding  of  women.  It  proclaimed  the  essen- 
tial equality  of  the  sexes.  It  denounced  the  awful  libertinism  of 
that  age,  and  showed  that  the  weakness,  the  ignorance,  the  vanity, 
and  the  seclusion  of  women  prepared  them  to  become  the  tool  and 
minion  of  bad  men's  lust.  It  criticised  ably  the  educational  sys- 
tem of  Rousseau,  and,  with  still  more  severity,  the  popular  works 
of  bishops  and  priests,  who  chiefly  strove  to  inculcate  an  abject 
submission  to  man  as  the  rightful  lord  of  the  sex.  It  demon- 
strated that  the  sole  possibility  of  woman's  elevation  to  the  rank 
of  man's  equal  and  friend  was  in  the  cultivation  of  her  mind,  and 
in  the  thoughtful  discharge  of  the  duties  of  her  lot.  It  is  a  really 
noble  and  brave  little  book,  undeserving  of  the  oblivion  into  which 
it  has  fallen.  No  intelligent  woman,  no  wise  parent  with  daugh- 
ters to  rear,  could  read  it  now  without  pleasure  and  advantage. 

"  Meekness,"  she  says,  "  may  excite  tenderness,  and  gratify  the  ar- 
rogant pride  of  man ;  but  the  lordly  caresses  of  a  protector  will  not 
gratify  a  noble  mind  that  pants  and  deserves  to  be  respected.  Fond- 
ness is  a  poor  substitute  for  friendship A  girl  whose  spirits 

have  not  been  damped  by  inactivity,  or  innocence  tainted  by  false 
shame,  will  always  be  a  romp,  and  the  doll  will  never  excite  attention 
unless  confinement  allows  her  no  alternative Most  of  the  wom- 
en, in  the  circle  of  my  observation,  who  have  acted  like  rational 
creatures,  have  accidentally  been  allowed  to  run  wild,  as  some  of  the 

elegant  formers  of  the  fair  sex  would  insinuate Men  have  better 

tempers  than  women  because  they  are  occupied  by  pursuits  that  inter- 
est the  head  as  well  as  the  heart.  I  never  knew  a  weak  or  ignorant 

person  who  had  a  good  temper Why  are  girls  to  be  told  that  they 

resemble  angels,  but  to  sink  them  below  women  ?  They  are  told  that 
they  are  only  like  angels  when  they  are  young  and  beautiful ;  conse- 
quently it  is  their  persons,  not  their  virtues,  that  procure  them  this 

homage It  is  in  vain  to  attempt  to  keep  the  heart  pure  unless 

the  head  is  furnished  with  ideas Would  ye,  O  my  sisters, 

really  possess  modesty,  ye  must  remember  that  the  possession  of  vir- 
tue, of  any  denomination,  is  incompatible  with  ignorance  and  vanity 
Ye  must  acquire  that  soberness  of  mind  which  the  exercise  of  duties 
and  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  alone  inspire,  or  ye  will  still  remain  in  a 
doubtful,  dependent  situation,  and  only  be  loved  while  ye  are  fair 
The  downcast  eye,  the  rosy  blush,  the  retiring  grace,  are  all  proper  in 
their  season  ;  but  modesty  being  the  child  of  reason  cannot  long  exist 


THEODOSIA   BURR.  403 

with  the  sensibility  that  is  not  tempered  by  reflection With  what 

disgust  have  I  heard  sensible  women  speak  of  the  wearisome  confinement 
which  they  endured  at  school.  Not  allowed,  perhaps,  to  step  out  of 
one  broad  path  in  a  superb  garden,  and  obliged  to  pace,  with  steady 
deportment,  stupidly  backward  and  forward,  holding  up  their  heads 
and  turning  out  their  toes,  with  shoulders  braced  back,  instead  of 
bounding  forward,  aj  Nature  directs  to  complete  her  own  design,  in  the 
various  attitudes  so  conducive  to  health.  The  pure  animal  spirits, 
which  make  both  mind  and  body  shoot  out  and  unfold  the  tender  blos- 
soms of  hope,  are  turned  sour  and  vented  in  vain  wishes  or  pert  repin- 
ings,  that  contract  the  faculties  and  spoil  the  temper ;  else  they  mount 
to  the  brain,  and,  sharpening  the  understanding  before  it  gains  propor- 
tionable strength,  produce  that  pitiful  cunning  which  disgracefully 
characterizes  the  female  mind,  —  and,  I  fear,  will  ever  characterize  it 
while  women  remain  the  slaves  of  power." 

In  the  spirit  of  this  book  Theodosia's  education  was  conducted. 
Her  mind  had  fair  play.  Her  father  took  it  for  granted  that  she 
could  learn  what  a  boy  of  the  same  age  could  learn,  and  gave  her 
precisely  the  advantages  which  he  would  have  given  a  son.  Be- 
sides the  usual  accomplishments,  French,  music,  dancing,  and 
riding,  she  learned  to  read  Virgil,  Horace,  Terence,  Lucian,  Ho- 
mer, in  the  original.  She  appears  to  have  read  all  of  Terence 
and  Lucian,  a  great  part  of  Horace,  all  the  Iliad,  and  large  por- 
tions of  the  Odyssey.  "  Cursed  effects,"  exclaimed  her  father 
once,  "  of  fashionable  education,  of  which  both  sexes  are  the  ad- 
vocates, and  yours  eminently  the  victims.  If  I  could  foresee  that 
Theo  would  become  a  mere  fashionable  woman,  with  all  the 
attendant  frivolity  and  vacuity  of  mind,  adorned  with  whatever 
grace  and  allurement,  I  would  earnestly  pray  God  to  take  her 
forthwith  hence.  But  I  yet  hope  by  her  to  convince  the  worJd 
what  neither  sex  appears  to  believe,  that  women  have  souls.'* 

How  faithfully,  how  skilfully  he  labored  to  kindle  and  nourish 
the  intelligence  of  his  child  his  letters  to  her  attest.  He  waa 
never  too  busy  to  spare  a  half-hour  in  answering  her  letters.  In 
a  country  court-room,  in  the  Senate-chamber,  he  wrote  her  brief 
and  sprightly  notes,  correcting  her  spelling,  complimenting  her 
style,  reproving  her  indolence,  praising  her  industry,  commenting 
on  her  authors.  Rigorous  taskmaster  as  he  was,  he  bad  a  strong 


404  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

sense  of  the  value  of  just  commendation,  and  he  continued  to 
mingle  praise  very  happily  with  reproof.  A  few  sentences  from 
his  letters  to  her  will  serve  to  show  his  manner. 

(In  her  tenth  year.)  —  "I  rose  up  suddenly  from  the  sofa,  and  rub- 
bing my  head,  '  What  book  shall  I  buy  for  her  ? '  said  I  to  myself. 
'  She  reads  so  much  and  so  rapidly  that  it  is  not  easy  to  find  proper 
and  amusing  French  books  for  her ;  and  yet  I  am  so  flattered  with  her 
progress  in  that  language  that  I  am  resolved  she  shall,  at  all  events,  be 
gratified.  Indeed  I  owe  it  to  her.'  So,  after  walking  once  or  twice 
briskly  across  the  floor,  I  took  my  hat  and  sallied  out,  determined  not 
to  return  till  I  had  purchased  something*  It  was  not  my  first  attempt. 
I  went  into  one  bookseller's  shop  after  another.  I  found  plenty  of 
fairy  tales  and  such  nonsense,  fit  for  the  generality  of  children  nine  or 
ten  years  old.  '  These,'  said  I,  '  will  never  do.  Her  understanding 
begins  to  be  above  such  things ' ;  but  I  could  see  nothing  that  I  would 
offer  with  pleasure  to  an  intelligent,  well-informed  girl  nine  years  old. 
I  began  to  be  discouraged.  The  hour  of  dining  was  come.  '  But  I 
•will  search  a  little  longer.'  I  persevered.  At  last  I  found  it.  I  found 
the  very  thing  I  sought.  It  is  contained  in  two  volumes  octavo,  hand- 
somely bound,  and  with  prints  and  registers.  It  is  a  work  of  fancy, 
but  replete  with  instruction  and  amusement.  I  must  present  it  with 
my  own  hand." 

He  advised  her  to  keep  a  diary ;  and  to  give  her  an  idea  of 
what  she  should  record,  he  wrote  for  her  such  a  journal  of  one 
day  as  he  should  like  to  receive. 

Plan  of  the  Journal.*—"  Learned  230  lines,  which  finished  Horace. 
Heigh-ho  for  Terence  and  the  Greek  Grammar  to-morrow.  Practised 
two  hours  less  thirty-five  minutes,  which  I  begged  off.  Howlett 
(dancing-master)  did  not  come.  Began  Gibbon  last  evening.  I  find 
he  requires  as  much  study  and  attention  as  Horace;  so  I  shall  not 
rank  the  reading  of  him  among  amusements.  Skated  an  hour ;  fell 
twenty  times,  and  find  the  advantage  of  a  hard  head.  Ma  better,  — 
dined  with  us  at  table,  and  is  still  sitting  up  and  free  from  pain." 

She  was  remiss  in  keeping  her  journal ;  remiss,  too,  in  writing 
to  her  father,  though  he  reminded  her  that  he  never  let  one  of 
ker  letters  remain  unanswered  a  day.  He  reproved  her  sharply. 
»  What ! "  said  he,  "  can  neither  affection  nor  civility  induce  you 
to  devote  to  me  the  small  portion  of  time  which  I  have  required 


THEODOSIA  BURB.  405 

Are  authority  and  compulsion  the  a  the  only  engines  by  which 
you  can  be  moved  ?  For  shame,  Theo.  Do  not  give  me  reason 
to  think  so  ill  of  you." 

She  reformed.  In  her  twelfth  year,  her  father  wrote:  "lo 
triumphe !  there  is  not  a  word  misspelled  either  in  your  journal 
or  letter,  which  cannot  be  said  of  one  you  ever  wrote  before." 
And  again :  "  When  you  want  punctuality  in  your  letters,  I  am 
sure  you  want  it  in  everything ;  for  you  will  constantly  observe 
that  you  have  the  most  leisure  when  you  do  the  most  business. 
Negligence  of  one's  duty  produces  a  self-dissatisfaction  which 
unfits  the  mind  for  everything,  and  ennui  and  peevishness  are  tho 
never-failing  consequence." 

His  letters  abound  in  sound  advice.  There  is  scarcely  a  pas- 
sage in  them  which  the  most  scrupulous  and  considerate  parent 
could  disapprove.  Theodosia  heeded  well  his  instructions.  She 
became  nearly  all  that  his  heart  or  his  pride  desired. 

During  the  later  years  of  her  childhood,  her  mother  was  griev- 
ously afflicted  with  a  cancer,  which  caused  her  death  in  1794, 
before  Theodosia  had  completed  her  twelfth  year.  From  that 
time,  such  was  the  precocity  of  her  character,  that  she  became 
the  mistress  of  her  father's  house  and  the  companion  of  his  leisure 
hours.  Continuing  her  studies,  however,  we  find  her  in  her  six- 
teenth year  translating  French  comedies,  reading  the  Odyssey  at 
the  rate  of  two  hundred  lines  a  day,  and  about  to  begin  the  Iliad. 
"  The  happiness  of  my  life,"  writes  her  father,  "  depends  upon 
your  exertions  ;  for  what  else,  for  whom  else,  do  I  live  ?  "  And, 
later,  when  all  the  world  supposed  that  his  whole  soul  was  ab- 
sorbed in  getting  New  York  ready  to  vote  for  Jefferson  and  Burr, 
he  told  her  that  the  ideas  of  which  she  was  the  subject  that 
passed  daily  through  his  mind  would,  if  committed  to  writing,  fill 
an  octavo  volume. 

Who  so  happy  as  Theodosia  ?  "Who  so  fortunate  ?  The 
young  ladies  of  New  York,  at  the  close  of  the  last  century,  might 
have  been  pardoned  for  envying  *he  lot  of  this  favorite  child  of 
one  who  then  seemed  the  favorite  child  of  fortune.  Burr  had 
Veen  a  Senator  of  the  United  States  as  soon  as  he  had  attained 
the  age  demanded  by  the  Constitution.  As  a  lawyer  he  waa 


406  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

second  in  ability  and  success  to  no  man ;  in  reputation,  to  none 
but  Hamilton,  whose  services  in  the  Cabinet  of  General  Wash- 
ington had  given  him  great  celebrity.  Aged  members  of  the 
New  York  bar  remember  that  Burr  alone  was  the  antagonis' 
who  could  put  Hamilton  to  his  mettle.  When  other  lawyers 
vrere  employed  against  him,  Hamilton's  manner  was  that  of  a 
man  who  felt  an  easy  superiority  to  the  demands  upon  him ;  he 
took  few  notes ;  he  was  playful  and  careless,  relying  much  upon 
the  powerful  declamation  of  his  summing  up.  But  when  Burr 
was  in  the  case,  —  Burr  the  wary,  the  vigilant,  who  was  never 
careless,  never  inattentive,  who  came  into  court  only  after  an 
absolutely  exhaustive  preparation  of  his  case,  who  held  declama- 
tion in  contempt,  and  knew  how  to  quench  its  effect  by  a  stroke 
of  polite  satire,  or  the  quiet  citation  of  a  fact, —  then  Hamilton  was 
obliged  to  have  all  his  wits  about  him,  and  he  was  observed  to  be 
restless,  busy,  and  serious.  There  are  now  but  two  or  three 
venerable  men  among  us  who  remember  the  keen  encounters  of 
these  two  distinguished  lawyers.  The  vividness  of  their  recol- 
lection of  those  scenes  of  sixty  years  ago  shows  what  an  impres- 
sion must  have  been  made  upon  their  youthful  minds. 

If  Hamilton  and  Burr  divided  equally  between  them  the 
honors  of  the  bar,  Burr  had  the  additional  distinction  of  being  a 
leader  of  the  rising  Democratic  Party ;  the  party  to  which,  at 
that  day,  the  youth,  the  genius,  the  sentiment,  of  the  country  were 
powerfully  drawn ;  the  party  which,  by  his  masterly  tactics,  was 
about  to  place  Mr.  Jefferson  in  the  Presidential  chair  after  ten 
years  of  ineffectual  struggle. 

All  this  enhanced  the  eclat  of  Theodosia's  position.  As  she 
rode  about  the  island  on  her  pony,  followed  at  a  respectful  dis 
tance,  as  the  custom  then  was,  by  one  of  her  father's  slaves 
mounted  on  a  coach-horse,  doubtless  many  a  fair  damsel  of  the 
city  repined  at  her  own  homelier  lot,  while  she  dwelt  upon  the 
many  advantages  which  nature  and  circumstances  had  bestowed 
upon  this  gifted  and  happy  maiden. 

She  was  a  beautiful  girl.  She  inherited  all  her  father's  refined 
beauty  of  countenance ;  also  his  shortness  of  stature  ;  the  dignity 
grace,  and  repose  of  his  incomparable  manner,  too.  She  was  a 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  407 

plump,  petite,  and  rosy  girl ;  but  there  was  that  in  her  demeanor 
which  became  the  daughter  of  an  affluent  home,  and  a  certain 
assured,  indescribable  expression  of  face  which  seemed  to  say, 
Here  is  a  maiden  who  to  the  object  of  her  affection  could  be 
faithful  against  an  execrating  world,  —  faithful  even  unto  death. 
Burr  maintained  at  that  time  two  establishments,  one  in  the 
city,  the  other  a  mile  and  a  half  out  of  town  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson.  Richmond  Hill  was  the  name  of  his  country  seat, 
where  Theodosia  resided  during  the  later  years  of  her  youth.  It 
was  a  large,  massive,  wooden  edifice,  with  a  lofty  portico  of  Ionic 
columns,  and  stood  on  a  hill  facing  the  river,  in  the  midst  of  a 
lawn  adorned  with  ancient  trees  and  trained  shrubbery.  The 
grounds,  which  extended  to  the  water's  edge,  comprised  about  a 
hundred  and  sixty  acres.  Those  who  now  visit  the  site  of  Burr's 
abode,  at  the  corner  of  Charlton  and  Varick  streets,  behold  a 
wilderness  of  very  ordinary  houses  covering  a  dead  level.  The 
hill  has  been  pared  away,  the  ponds  filled  up,  the  river  pushed 
away  a  long  distance  from  the  ancient  shore,  and  every  one  of  the 
venerable  trees  is  gone.  The  city  shows  no  spot  less  suggestive 
of  rural  beauty.  But  Richmond  Hill,  in  the  days  of  Hamilton 
and  Burr,  was  the  finest  country  residence  on  the  island  of  Man- 
hattan. The  wife  of  John  Adams,  who  lived  there  in  1790,  just 
before  Burr  bought  it,  and  who  had  recently  travelled  in  the  love- 
liest counties  of  England,  speaks  of  it  as  a  situation  not  inferior 
in  natural  beauty  to  the  most  delicious  spot  she  ever  saw.  "The 
house,"  she  says,  "  is  situated  upon  an  eminence  ;  at  an  agreeable 
distance  flows  the  noble  Hudson,  bearing  upon  its  bosom  the 
fruitful  productions  of  the  adjacent  country.  On  my  right  hand 
are  fields  beautifully  variegated  with  grass  and  grain,  to  a  great 
extent,  like  the  valley  of  Honiton,  in  Devonshire.  Upon  my  left 
the  city  opens  to  view,  intercepted  here  and  there  by  a  rising 
ground  and  an  ancient  oak.  In  front,  beyond  the  Hudson,  the 
Jersey  shores  present  the  exuberance  of  a  rich,  well-cultivated 
soil.  The  venerable  oaks  and  broken  ground,  covered  with  wild 
shrubs,  which  surround  me,  give  a  natural  beauty  to  the  spot, 
which  is  truly  enchanting.  A  lovely  variety  of  birds  serenade 
me  morning  and  evening,  rejoicing  in  their  liberty  and  security  • 


408  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

for  I  have,  as  much  as  possible,  prohibited  the  grounds  from  in- 
vasion, and  sometimes  almost  wished  for  game-laws,  when  my 
orders  have  not  been  sufficiently  regarded.  The  partridge,  the 
woodcock,  and  the  pigeon  are  too  great  temptations  to  the  sports- 
men to  withstand." 

Indeed  the  whole  Island  was  enchanting  in  those  early  days. 
There  were  pleasant  gardens  even  in  Wall  Street,  Cedar  Street, 
Nassau  Street ;  and  the  Battery,  the  place  of  universal  resort, 
was  one  of  the  most  delightful  public  grounds  in  the  world,  —  as 
it  will  be  again  when  the  Spoiler  is  thrust  from  the  places  of 
power,  and  the  citizens  of  New  York  come  again  into  the  owner- 
ship of  their  city.  The  banks  of  the  Hudson  and  of  the  East 
River  were  forest-crowned  bluffs,  lofty  and  picturesque,  and  on 
every  favorable  site  stood  a  cottage  or  a  mansion  surrounded  with 
pleasant  grounds.  The  letters  of  Theodosia  Burr  contain  many 
passages  expressive  of  her  intense  enjoyment  of  the  variety,  the 
vivid  verdure,  the  noble  trees,  the  heights,  the  pretty  lakes,  the 
enchanting  prospects,  the  beautiful  gardens,  which  her  daily  rides 
brought  to  her  view.  She  was  a  dear  lover  of  her  island  home. 
The  city  had  not  then  laid  waste  the  beauty  of  Manhattan. 
There  was  only  one  bank  in  New  York,  the  officers  of  which 
shut  the  bank  at  one  o'clock  and  went  home  to  dinner,  returned 
at  three,  and  kept  the  bank  open  till  five.  Much  of  the  business 
life  of  the  town  partook  of  this  homely,  comfortable,  easy-going, 
rural  spirit.  There  was  a  mail  twice  a  week  to  the  North,  and 
twice  a  week  to  the  South,  and  many  of  the  old-fashioned  people 
had  time  to  live. 

Not  so  the  younger  and  newer  portion  of  the  population.  We 
learn  from  one  of  the  letters  of  the  ill-fated  Blennerhassett,  who 
arrived  in  New  York  from  Ireland  in  1796,  that  the  people  were 
so  busy  there  in  making  new  docks,  filling  in  the  swamps,  and 
digging  cellars  for  new  buildings,  as  to  bring  on  an  epidemic  fever 
and  ague  that  drove  him  from  the  city  to  the  Jersey  shore.  He 
mentions,  also,  that  land  in  the  State  doubled  in  value  every  twc 
years,  and  that  commercial  speculation  was  carried  on  with  such 
avidity  that  it  was  more  like  gambling  than  trade.  It  is  he  that 
relates  the  story  of  the  adventurer,  who,  on  learning  that  the  yel 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  409 

low-fevei  prevailed  fearfully  in  the  West  Indies,  sent  thither 
a  cargo  of  coffins  in  nests,  and,  that  no  room  might  be  lost, 
filled  the  smallest  with  gingerbread.  The  speculation,  he  assures 
us,  was  a  capital  hit ;  for  the  adventurer  not  only  sold  his  coffins 
very  profitably,  but  loaded  his  vessel  with  valuable  woods,  which 
yielded  a  great  profit  at  New  York.  At  that  time,  also,  the 
speculation  in  lots,  corner  lots,  and  lands  near  the  city,  was  prose- 
cuted with  all  the  recklessness  which  we  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  supposing  was  peculiar  to  later  times.  New  York  was  New 
York  even  in  the  days  of  Burr  and  Hamilton. 

As  mistress  of  Richmond  Hill,  Theodosia  entertained  distin- 
guished company.  Hamilton  was  her  father's  occasional  guest. 
Burr  preferred  the  society  of  educated  Frenchmen  and  French- 
women to  any  other,  and  he  entertained  many  distinguished  ex- 
iles of  the  French  Revolution.  Talleyrand,  Volney,  Jerome 
Bonaparte,  and  Louis  Philippe  were  among  his  guests.  Colonel 
Stone  mentions,  in  his  Life  of  Brant,  that  Theodosia,  in  her  four- 
teenth year,  in  the  absence  of  her  father,  gave  a  dinner  to  that 
chieftain  of  the  forest,  which  was  attended  by  the  Bishop  of  New 
York,  Dr.  Hosack,  Volney,  and  several  other  guests  of  distinction, 
who  greatly  enjoyed  the  occasion.  Burr  was  gratified  to  hear 
with  how  much  grace  and  good-nature  his  daughter  acquitted 
herself  in  the  entertainment  of  her  company.  The  chief  himself 
was  exceedingly  delighted,  and  spoke  of  the  dinner  with  great 
animation  many  years  after. 

We  have  one  pleasant  glimpse  of  Theodosia  in  these  happy 
years,  in  a  trifling  anecdote  preserved  by  the  biographer  of  Ed- 
ward Livingston,  during  whose  mayoralty  the  present  City  Hall 
was  begun.  The  mayor  had  the  pleasure,  one  bright  day,  of 
escorting  the  young  lady  on  board  a  French  frigate  lying  in  the 
harbor.  "  You  must  bring  none  of  your  sparks  on  board,  Theo- 
dosia," exclaimed  the  pun-loving  magistrate ;  "  for  they  have  a 
magazine  here,  and  we  shall  all  be  blown  up."  Oblivion  here 
drops  the  curtain  upon  the  gay  party  and  the  brilliant  scene. 

A  suitor  appeared  for  the  hand  of  this  fair  and  accomplished 
girl.  It  was  Joseph  Alston  of  South  Carolina,  a  gentleman  of 
twenty-two,  possessor  of  large  estates  ip  rice  plantations  and 
18 


410  THEODOSIA    BURR. 

slaves,  and  a  man  of  much  spirit  and  talent.  He  valued  his 
estates  at  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling.  Their  court- 
ship was  not  a  long  one ;  for  though  she,  as  became  her  sex, 
checked  the  impetuosity  of  his  advances  and  argued  for  delay,  she 
was  easily  convinced  by  the  reasons  which  he  adduced  for  haste. 
She  reminded  him  that  Aristotle  was  of  opinion  that  a  man 
should  not  marry  till  he  was  thirty-six.  "A  fig  for  Aristotle,"  he 
replied  ;  "  let  us  regard  the  ipse  dixit  of  no  man.  It  is  only  want 
of  fortune  or  want  of  discretion,"  he  continued,  "  that  could  justify 
such  a  postponement  of  married  joys.  But  suppose,"  he  added, 
"  (merely  for  instance,)  a  young  man  nearly  two-and-twenty, 
already  of  the  greatest  discretion,  with  an  ample  fortune,  were  to 
be  passionately  in  love  with  a  young  lady  almost  eighteen,  equally 
discreet  with  himself,  and  who  had  a  '  sincere  friendship '  for  him, 
do  you  think  it  would  be  necessary  to  make  him  wait  till  thirty  ? 
particularly  where  the  friends  on  both  sides  were  pleased  with 
the  match." 

She  told  him,  also,  that  some  of  her  friends  who  had  visited 
Charleston  had  described  it  as  a  city  where  the  yellow-fever  and 
the  "  yells  of  whipped  negroes,  which  assail  your  ears  from  every 
house,"  and  the  extreme  heat,  rendered  life  a  mere  purgatory. 
She  had  heard,  too,  that  in  South  Carolina  the  men  were  ab- 
sorbed in  hunting,  gaming,  and  racing ;  while  the  women,  robbed 
of  their  society,  had  no  pleasures  but  to  come  together  in  large 
parties,  sip  tea,  and  look  prim.  The  ardent  swain  eloquently  de- 
fended his  native  State :  — 

"  What !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  is  Charleston,  the  most  delightfully  situ- 
ated city  in  America,  which,  entirely  open  to  the  ocean,  twice  in  every 
twenty-four  hours  is  cooled  by  the  refreshing  sea-breeze,  the  Montpel 
ier  of  the  South,  which  annually  affords  an  asylum  to  the  planter  and 
the  West  Indian  from  every  disease,  accused  of  heat  and  unhealthi- 
ness  ?  But  this  is  not  all,  unfortunate  citizens  of  Charleston  ;  the 
scream,  the  yell  of  the  miserable  unresisting  African,  bleeding  under 
the  scourge  of  relentless  power,  affords  music  to  your  ears  !  Ah !  from 
what  unfriendly  cause  does  this  arise  ?  Has  the  God  of  heaven,  in 
anger,  here  changed  the  order  of  nature  ?  In  every  other  region, 
without  exception,  in  a  similar  degree  of  latitude,  the  same  sun  which 
ripens  the  tamarind  and  the  anana,  ameliorates  the  temper,  and  dis- 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  411 

poses  it  to  gentleness  and  kindness.  In  India  and  other  countries,  not 
very  different  in  climate  from  the  southern  parts  of  the  United  States, 
the  inhabitants  are  distinguished  for  a  softness  and  inoffensiveness  of 
manners,  degenerating  almost  to  effeminacy ;  it  is  here  then,  only, 
that  we  are  exempt  from  the  general  influence  of  climate  :  here  only 
that,  in  spite  of  it,  we  are  cruel  and  ferocious !  Poor  Carolina ! " 

And  with  regard  to  the  manners  of  the  Carolinians  he  assured 
the  young  lady  that  if  there  was  one  State  in  the  Union  which 
could  justly  claim  superiority  to  the  rest,  in  social  refinement  and 
the  art  of  elegant  living,  it  was  South  Carolina,  where  the  divi- 
sion of  the  people  into  the  very  poor  and  the  very  rich  left  to  the 
latter  class  abundant  leisure  for  the  pursuit  of  literature  and  the 
enjoyment  of  society. 

"  The  possession  of  slaves,"  he  owns,  "  renders  them  proud,  impa- 
tient of  restraint,  and  gives  them  a  haughtiness  of  manner  which,  to 
those  unaccustomed  to  them,  is  disagreeable ;  but  we  find  among  them 
a  high  sense  of  honor,  a  delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  a  liberality  of  mind, 
which  we  look  for  in  vain  in  the  more  commercial  citizens  of  the 
Northern  States.  The  genius  of  the  Carolinian,  like  the  inhabitants 
of  all  southern  countries,  is  quick,  lively,  and  acute ;  in  steadiness  and 
perseverance  he  is  naturally  inferior  to  the  native  of  the  North  ;  but 
this  defect  of  climate  is  often  overcome  by  bis  ambition  or  necessity ; 
and,  whenever  this  happens,  he  seldom  fails  to  distinguish  himself.  In 
his  temper  he  is  gay  and  fond  of  company,  open,  generous,  and  unsus- 
picious ;  easily  irritated,  and  quick  to  resent  even  the  appearance  of 
insult ;  but  his  passion,  like  the  fire  of  the  flint,  is  lighted  up  and  ex- 
tinguished in  the  same  moment." 

Such  discussions  end  only  in  one  way.  TheodosSa  yielded  the 
points  in  dispute.  At  Albany,  on  the  2d  of  February,  1801, 
while  the  country  was  ringing  with  the  names  of  Jefferson  and 
Burr,  and  while  the  world  supposed  that  Burr  was  intriguing 
with  all  his  might  to  defeat  the  wishes  of  the  people  by  securing 
his  own  election  to  the  Presidency,  his  daughter  was  married. 
The  marriage  was  thus  announced  in  the  New  York  Commercial 
Advertiser  of  February  7  :  — 

"  MARRIED.  —  At  Albany,  on  the  2d  instant,  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
JOHNSON,  JOSEPH  ALSTON,  of  South  Carolina,  to  THEODOSIA  BURR, 
only  child  of  AAROX  BURR,  Esq." 


412  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

They  were  married  at  Albany,  because  Colonel  Burr,  being  a 
member  of  the  Legislature,  was  residing  at  the  capital  cf  the 
State.  One  week  the  happy  pair  passed  at  Albany.  Then  to 
New  York ;  whence,  after  a  few  days'  stay,  they  began  their 
long  journey  southward.  Rejoined  at  Baltimore  by  Colonel 
Burr,  they  travelled  in  company  to  Washington,  where,  on  the 
4th  of  March,  Theodosia  witnessed  the  inauguration  of  Mr.  Jef- 
ferson, and  the  induction  of  her  father  into  the  Vice-Presidency. 
Father  and  child  parted  a  day  or  two  after  the  ceremony.  The 
only  solid  consolation,  he  said  in  his  first  letter  to  her,  that  he  had 
for  the  loss  of-  her  dear  companionship,  was  a  belief  that  she 
would  be  happy,  and  the  certainty  that  they  should  often  meet. 
And,  on  his  return  to  New  York,  he  told  her  that  he  had  ap- 
proached his  home  as  he  would  "  the  sepulchre  of  all  his  friends." 
"  Dreary,  solitary,  comfortless.  It  was  no  longer  home"  Hence 
his  various  schemes  of  a  second  marriage,  to  which  Theodosia 
urged  him.  He  soon  had  the  comfort  of  hearing  that  the  recep- 
tion of  his  daughter  in  South  Carolina  was  as  cordial  and  affec- 
tionate as  his  heart  could  have  wished. 

Theodosia  now  enjoyed  three  as  happy  years  as  ever  fell  to  the 
lot  of  a  young  wife.  Tenderly  cherished  by  her  husband,  whom 
she  devotedly  loved,  caressed  by  society,  surrounded  by  affection- 
ate and  admiring  relations,  provided  bountifully  with  all  the 
means  of  enjoyment,  living  in  the  summer  in  the  mountains  of 
Carolina,  or  at  the  home  of  her  childhood,  Richmond  Hill,  pass- 
ing the  winters  in  gay  and  luxurious  Charleston,  honored  for  her 
own  sake,  for  her  father's,  and  her  husband's,  the  years  glided 
rapidly  by,  and  she  seemed  destined  to  remain  to  the  last  For- 
tune's favorite  child.  One  summer  she  and  her  husband  visited 
Niagara,  and  penetrated  the  domain  of  the  chieftain  Brant,  who 
gave  them  royal  entertainment.  Once  she  Lad  the  great  happi- 
ness of  receiving  her  father  under  her  own  roof,  and  of  seeing 
the  honors  paid  by  the  people  of  the  State  to  the  Vice-President. 
Again  she  spent  a  summer  at  Richmond  Hill  and  Saratoga,  leav- 
ing her  husband  for  the  first  time.  She  told  him  on  this  occasion 
that  every  woman  must  prefer  the  society  ot  the  North  to  that 
of  the  South,  whatever  she  might  say.  "  If  she  denies  it,  she  is 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  413 

set  down  in  ray  mind  as  insincere  and  weakly  prejudiced."  But, 
like  a  fond  and  loyal  wife,  she  wrote,  "  Where  you  are,  there  is 
my  country,  and  in  you  are  centred  all  my  wishes." 

She  was  a  mother  too.  That  engaging  and  promising  boy, 
Aaron  Burr  Alston,  the  delight  of  his  parents  and  of  his  grand- 
father, was  born  in  the  second  year  of  the  marriage.  This  event 
seemed  to  complete  her  happiness.  For  a  time,  it  is  true,  she 
paid  dearly  for  it  by  the  loss  of  her  former  robust  and  joyous 
health.  But  the  boy  was  worth  the  price.  "  If  I  can  see  with- 
out prejudice,"  wrote  Colonel  Burr,  "there  never  was  a  finer 
boy " ;  and  the  mother's  letters  are  full  of  those  sweet,  trifling 
anecdotes  which  mothers  love  to  relate  of  their  offspring.  Her 
father  still  urged  her  to  improve  her  mind,  for  her  own  and  her 
son's  sake,  telling  her  that  all  she  could  learn  would  necessarily 
find  its  way  to  the  mind  of  the  boy.  "  Pray  take  in  hand,"  he 
writes,  "some  book  which  requires  attention  and  study.  You 
will,  I  fear,  lose  the  habit  of  study,  which  would  be  a  greater  mis- 
fortune than  to  lose  your  head."  He  praised,  too,  the  ease,  good- 
sense,  and  sprightliness  of  her  letters,  and  said  truly  that  her 
style,  at  its  best,  was  not  inferior  to  that  of  Madame  de  Se'vigne'. 

Life  is  frequently  styled  a  checkered  scene.  But  it  was  the 
peculiar  lot  of  Theodosia  to  experience  during  the  first  twenty- 
one  years  of  her  life  nothing  but  prosperity  and  happiness,  and 
during  the  remainder  of  her  existence  nothing  but  misfortune 
and  sorrow.  Never  had  her  father's  position  seemed  so' strong 
and  enviable  as  during  his  tenure  of  the  office  of  Vice-President ; 
but  never  had  it  been  in  reality  so  hollow  and  precarious.  Hold- 
ing property  valued  at  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  he  was  so 
deeply  in  debt  that  nothing  but  the  sacrifice  of  his  landed  estate 
could  save  him  from  bankruptcy.  At  the  age  of  thirty  he  had 
permitted  himself  to  be  drawn  from  a  lucrative  and  always  in- 
creasing professional  business  to  the  fascinating  but  most  costly 
pursuit  of  political  honors.  And  now,  when  he  stood  at  a  distance 
of  only  one  step  from  the  highest  place,  he  was  pursued  by  a 
clamorous  host  of  creditors,  and  compelled  to  resort  to  a  hundred 
expedients  to  maintain  the  expensive  establishments  supposed  to 
be  necessary  to  a  Vice-President's  dignity.  His  political  posi- 


414  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

tion  was  as  hollow  as  his  social  eminence.  Mr.  Jefferson  was 
firmly  resolved  that  Aaron  Burr  should  not  be  his  successor- 
and  the  great  families  of  New  York,  whom  Burr  had  united  to 
win  the  victory  over  Federalism,  were  now  united  to  bar  the 
further  advancement  of  a  man  whom  they  chose  to  regard  as  an 
interloper  and  a  parvenu.  If  Burr's  private  life  had  been  stain- 
less, if  his  fortune  had  been  secure,  if  he  had  been  in  his  heart  a 
Republican  and  a  Democrat,  if  he  had  been  a  man  earnest  in  the 
peoplels  cause,  if  even  his  talents  had  been  as  superior  as  they 
were  supposed  to  be,  such  a  combination  of  powerful  families  and 
political  influence  might  have  retarded,  but  could  not  have  pre- 
vented, his  advancement;  for  he  was  still  in  the  prime  of  his 
prime,  and  the  people  naturally  side  with  a  man  who  is  the  archi- 
tect of  his  own  fortunes. 

On  the  1st  of  July,  1804,  Burr  sat  in  the  library  of  Richmond 
Hill  writing  to  Theodosia.  The  day  was  unseasonably  cold,  and 
a  fire  blazed  upon  the  hearth.  The  lord  of  the  mansion  was 
chilly  and  serious.  An  hour  before  he  had  taken  the  step  which 
made  the  duel  with  Hamilton  inevitable,  though  eleven  days 
were  to  elapse  before  the  actual  encounter.  He  was  tempted  to 
prepare  the  mind  of  his  child  for  the  event,  but  he  forebore. 
Probably  his  mind  had  been  wandering  into  the  past,  and  recall- 
ing his  boyhood ;  for  he  quoted  a  line  of  poetry  which  he  had 
been  wont  to  use  in  those  early  days.  "  Some  very  wise  man  has 

said,"  he  wrote, 

• 
" '  Oh,  fools,  who  think  it  solitude  to  be  alone  I ' 

This  is  but  poetry.  Let  us,  therefore,  drop  the  subject,  lest  it 
lead  to  acother,  on  which  I  have  imposed  silence  on  myself." 
Then  he  proceeds,  in  his  usual  gay  and  agreeable  manner,  again 
urging  her  to  go  on  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  His  last 
thoughts  before  going  to  the  field  were  with  her  and  for  her. 
His  last  request  to  her  husband  was  that  he  should  do  all  that  in 
him  lay  to  encourage  her  to  improve  her  mind. 

The  bloody  deed  was  done.  The  next  news  Theodosia  re- 
ceived from  her  father  was  that  he  was  a  fugitive  from  the  sudden 
abhorrence  of  his  fellow-citizens  ;  that  an  indictment  for  murdei 


THEODOSIA  BURR  415 

was  hanging  over  his  head  ;  that  his  career  in  New  York  was,  in 
all  probability,  over  forever ;  and  that  he  was  destined  to  be  for 
a  time  a  wanderer  on  the  earth.  Her  happy  days  were  at  an 
end.  She  never  blamed  her  father  for  this,  or  for  any  act  of  his ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  accepted  without  questioning  his  own  version 
of  the  facts,  and  his  own  view  of  the  morality  of  what  he  had 
done.  He  had  formed  her  mind  and  tutored  her  conscience.  He 
was  her  conscience.  But  though  she  censured  him  not,  her  days 
and  nights  were  embittered  by  anxiety  from  this  time  to  the  last 
day  of  her  life.  A  few  months  later  her  father,  black  with  hun- 
dreds of  miles  of  travel  in  an  open  canoe,  reached  her  abode  in 
South  Carolina,  and  spent  some  weeks  there  before  appearing  for 
the  last  time  in  the  chair  of  the  Senate  ;  for,  ruined  as  he  was  in 
fortune  and  good  name,  indicted  for  murder  in  New  York  and 
New  Jersey,  he  was  still  Vice-President  of  the  United  States, 
and  he  was  resolved  to  reappear  upon  the  public  scene,  and  do 
the  duty  which  the  Constitution  assigned  him. 

The  Mexican  scheme  followed.  Theodosia  and  her  husband 
were  both  involved  in  it.  Mr.  Alston  advanced  money  for  the 
project,  which  was  never  repaid,  and  which,  in  his  will,  he  for- 
gave. His  entire  loss,  in  consequence  of  his  connection  with  that 
affair,  may  be  reckoned  at  about  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Theo- 
dosia entirely  and  warmly  approved  the  dazzling  scheme.  The 
throne  of  Mexico,  she  thought,  was  an  object  worthy  of  her 
father's  talents,  and  one  which  would  repay  him  for  the  loss  of  a 
brief  tenure  of  the  Presidency,  and  be  a  sufficient  triumph  over 
the  men  who  were  supposed  to  have  thwarted  him.  Her  boy, 
too,  —  would  he  not  be  heir-presumptive  to  a  throne  ? 

The  recent  publication  of  the  "  Blennerhassett  Papers  "  ap- 
pears to  dispel  all  that  remained  of  the  mystery  which  the  secre- 
tive Burr  chose  to  leave  around  the  object  of  his  scheme.  We 
can  now  say  with  almost  absolute  certainty  that  Burr's  objects  were 
the  following  :  The  throne  of  Mexico  for  himself  and  his  heirs  ; 
the  seizure  and  organization  of  Texas  as  preliminary  to  the  grand 
design.  The  purchase  of  lands  on  the  Washita  was  for  the  three- 
fold purpose  of  veiling  the  real  object,  providing  a  rendezvous, 
and  having  the  means  of  tempting  and  rewarding  those  of  th« 


416  THEODOSIA  BUER. 

adventurers  who  were  not  in  the  secret.  We'  can  also  now  dis- 
cover the  designed  distribution  of  honors  and  places :  Aaron  I., 
Emperor ;  Joseph  Alston,  Head  of  the  Nobility  and  Chief  Minis- 
ter ;  Aaron  Burr  Alston,  heir  to  the  throne ;  Theodosia,  Chief 
Lady  of  the  Court  and  Empire ;  Wilkinson,  General-in-Chief  of 
the  Army ;  Blennerhassett,  Embassador  to  the  Court  of  St. 
James ;  Commodore  Truxton  (perhaps),  Admiral  of  the  Navy. 
There  is  not  an  atom  of  new  evidence  which  warrants  the  suppo- 
sition that  Burr  had  any  design  to  sever  the  Western  States  from 
the  Union.  If  he  himself  had  ever  contemplated  such  an  event, 
it  is  almost  unquestionable  that  his  followers  were  ignorant  of  it. 

The  scheme  exploded.  Theodosia  and  her  husband  had  joined 
him  at  the  home  of  the  Blennerhassetts,  and  they  were  near  him 
when  the  President's  proclamation  dashed  the  scheme  to  atoms, 
scattered  the  band  of  adventurers,  and  sent  Burr  a  prisoner  to 
Richmond,  charged  with  high  treason.  Mr.  Alston,  in  a  public 
letter  to  the  Governor  of  South  Carolina,  solemnly  declared  that 
he  was  wholly  ignorant  of  any  treasonable  design  on  the  part  of 
his  father-in-law,  and  repelled  with  honest  warmth  the  charge 
of  his  own  complicity  with  a  design  so  manifestly  absurd  and 
hopeless  as  that  of  a  dismemberment  of  the  Union.  Theodosia, 
stunned  with  the  unexpected  blow,  returned  with  her  husband  to 
South  Carolina,  ignorant  of  her  father's  fate.  He  was  carried 
through  that  State  on  his  way  to  the  North,  and  there  it  was  that 
he  made  his  well-known  attempt  to  appeal  to  the  civil  authorities 
and  get  deliverance  from  the  guard  of  soldiers.  From  Richmond 
he  wrote  her  a  hasty  note,  informing  her  of  his  arrest.  She  and 
her  husband  joined  him  soon,  and  remained  with  him  during  his 
trial. 

At  Richmond,  during  the  six  months  of  the  trial,  Burr  tasted 
the  last  of  the  sweets  of  popularity.  The  party  opposed  to  Mr. 
Jefferson  made  his  cause  their  own,  and  gathered  round  the  fall- 
en leader  with  ostentatious  sympathy  and  aid.  Ladies  sent  him 
bouquets,  wine,  and  dainties  for  his  table,  and  bestowed  upon  his 
iaughter  the  most  affectionate  and  flattering  attentions.  Old 
friends  from  New  York  and  new  friends  from  the  West  were 
there  to  cheer  and  help  the  prisoner.  Andrew  Jackson  was  con- 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  417 

spicuously  his  friend  and  defender,  declaiming  in  the  streets  upon 
the  tyranny  of  the  Administration  and  the  perfidy  of  Wilkinson, 
Burr's  chief  accuser.  Washington  Irving,  then  in  the  dawn  of 
his  great  renown,  who  had  given  the  first  efforts  of  his  youthful 
pen  to  Burr's  newspaper,  was  present  at  the  trial,  full  of  sympa- 
thy  for  a  man  whom  he  believed  to  be  the  victim  of  treachery 
and  political  animosity.  Doubtless  he  was  not  wanting  in  com 
passionate  homage  to  the  young  matron  from  South  Carolina. 
Mr.  Irving  was  then  a  lawyer,  and  had  been  retained  as  one  of 
Burr's  counsel ;  not  to  render  service  in  the  court-room,  but  in 
the  expectation  that  his  pen  would  be  employed  in  staying  the 
torrent  of  public  opinion  that  was  setting  against  his  client. 
Whether  or  not  he  wrote  in  his  behalf  does  not  appear.  But  his 
private  letters,  written  at  Richmond  during  the  trial,  show  plain- 
ly enough  that,  if  his  head  was  puzzled  by  the  confused  and  con- 
tradictory evidence,  his  heart  and  his  imagination  were  on  the 
side  of  the  prisoner. 

Theodosia's  presence  at  Richmond  was  of  more  value  to  her 
father  than  the  ablest  of  his  counsel.  Every  one  appears  to 
have  loved,  admired,  and  sympathized  with  her.  "  You  can't 
think,"  wrote  Mrs.  Blennerhassett,  "  with  what  joy  and  pride  I 
read  what  Colonel  Burr  says  of  his  daughter.  I  never  could  love 
one  of  my  own  sex  as  I  do  her."  Blennerhassett  himself  was 
not  less  her  friend.  Luther  Martin,  Burr's  chief  counsel,  almost 
worshipped  her.  "  I  find,"  wrote  Blennerhassett,  "  that  Luther 
Martin's  idolatrous  admiration  of  Mrs.  Alston  is  almost  as  exces- 
sive as  my  own,  but  far  more  beneficial  to  his  interest  and  injuri- 
ous to  his  judgment,  as  it  is  the  medium  of  his  blind  attachment  to 
her  father,  whose  secrets  and  views,  past,  present,  or  to  come,  he 
is  and  wishes  to  remain  ignorant  of.  Nor  can  he  see  a  speck  in 
the  character  or  conduct  of  Alston,  for  the  best  of  all  reasons  with 
him,  namely,  that  Alston  has  such  a  wife."  It  plainly  appears, 
too,  from  the  letters  and  journal  of  Blennerhassett,  that  Alston 
did  all  in  his  power  to  promote  the  acquittal  and  aid  the  fallen 
fortunes  of  Burr,  and  that  he  did  so,  not  because  he  believed  in 
him,  but  because  he  loved  his  Theodosia. 

Acquitted  by  the  jury,  but  condemned  at  the  bar  of  public  opin 
18*  AA 


418  THEODOSIA  EVER. 

ion,  denounced  by  the  press,  abhorred  by  the  Republican  party, 
and  still  pursued  by  his  creditors,  Burr,  in  the  spring  of  1808,  lay 
concealed  at  New  York  preparing  for  a  secret  flight  to  Europe. 
Again  his  devoted  child  travelled  northward  to  see  him  once  more 
before  he  sailed.  For  some  weeks  both  were  in  the  city,  meeting 
only  by  night  at  the  house  of  some  tried  friend,  but  exchanging 
notes  and  letters  from  hour  to  hour.  One  whole  night  they  spent 
together,  just  before  his  departure.  To  her  he  committed  his  pa- 
pers, the  accumulation  of  thirty  busy  years ;  and  it  was  she  who 
was  to  collect  the  debts  due  him,  and  thus  provide  for  his  mainten- 
ance in  Europe. 

Burr  was  gay  and  confident  to  the  last,  for  he  was  strong  in 
the  belief  that  the  British  Ministry  would  adopt  his  scheme  and 
aid  in  tearing  Mexico  from  the  grasp  of  Napoleon.  Theodosia 
was  sick  and  sorrowful,  but  bore  bravely  up  and  won  her  fa- 
ther's commendation  for  her  fortitude.  In  one  of  the  early 
days  of  June  father  and  daughter  parted,  to  meet  no  more  on 
earth. 

The  four  years  of  Burr's  fruitless  exile  were  to  Theodosia 
years  of  misery.  She  could  not  collect  the  debts  on  which  they 
had  relied.  The  embargo  reduced  the  rice-planters  to  extreme 
embarrassment.  Her  husband  no  longer  sympathized  with  her 
in  her  yearning  love  for  her  father,  though  loving  her  as  tenderly 
as  ever.  Old  friends  in  New  York  cooled  toward  her.  Her 
health  was  precarious.  Months  passed  without  bringing  a  word 
from  over  the  sea  ;  and  the  letters  that  did  reach  her,  lively  and 
jovial  as  they  were,  contained  no  good  news.  She  saw  her 
father  expelled  from  England,  wandering  aimless  in  Sweden  and 
Germany,  almost  a  prisoner  in  Paris,  reduced  to  live  on  potatoes 
and  dry  bread ;  while  his  own  countrymen  showed  no  signs  of 
relenting  toward  him.  In  many  a  tender  passage  she  praised  his 
fortitude.  "  I  witness,"  she  wrote,  in  a  well-known  letter,  "  your 
extraordinary  fortitude  with  new  wonder  at  every  new  misfortune. 
Often,  after  reflecting  on  this  subject,  you  appear  to  me  so  supe- 
rior, so  elevated  above  all  other  men  ;  I  contemplate  you  with 
such  a  strange  mixture  of  humility,  admiration,  reverence,  love, 
and  pride,  that  very  little  superstition  would  be  necessaw  to  make 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  419 

me  worship  you  as  a  superior  being ;  such  enthusiasm  does  youi 
character  excite  in  me.  When  I  afterward  revert  to  myself,  how 
insignificant  do  my  best  qualities  appear  !  My  vanity  would  be 
greater  if  I  had  not  been  placed  so  near  you  ;  and  yet  my  pride 
is  our  relationship.  I  had  rather  not  live  than  not  be  the  daugh- 
ter of  such  a  man." 

Mr.  Madison  was  President  then.  In  other  days  her  father 
had  been  on  terms  of  peculiar  intimacy  with  Madison  and  his 
beautiful  and  accomplished  wife.  Burr,  in  his  later  years,  used 
to  say  that  it  was  he  who  had  brought  about  the  match  which 
made  Mrs.  Madison  an  inmate  of  the  Presidential  mansion. 
With  the  members  of  Madison's  Cabinet,  too,  he  had  been  social- 
ly and  politically  familiar.  When  Theodosia  perceived  that  her 
father  had  no  longer  a  hope  of  success  in  his  Mexican  project, 
she  became  anxious  for  his  return  to  America.  But  against  this 
was  the  probability  that  the  Administration  would  again  arrest 
him  and  bring  him  to  trial  for  the  third  time.  Theodosia  ventured 
to  write  to  her  old  friend,  Albert  Gallatin,  Secretary  of  the  Treas- 
ury, asking  him  to  interpose  on  her  father's  behalf.  A  letter  still 
more  interesting  than  this  has  recently  come  to  light.  It  was 
addressed  by  Theodosia  to  Mrs.  Madison.  The  coldest  heart 
cannot  read  this  eloquent  and  pathetic  production  without  emo- 
tion. She  writes :  — 

"MADAM,  —  You  may  perhaps  be  surprised  at  receiving  a  letter 
from  one  with  whom  you  have  had  so  little  intercourse  for  the  last  few 
years.  But  your  surprise  will  cease  when  you  recollect  that  my  father, 
once  your  friend,  is  now  in  exile ;  and  that  the  President  only  can  re- 
store him  to  me  and  his  country. 

"  Ever  since  the  choice  of  the  people  was  first  declared  in  favor  of 
Mr.  Madison,  my  heart,  amid  the  universal  joy,  has  beat  with  the  hope 
that  I,  too,  should  soon  have  reason  to  rejoice.  Convinced  that  Mr. 
Madison  would  neither  feel  nor  judge  from  the  feelings  or  judgment 
of  others,  I  had  no  doubt  of  his  hastening  to  relieve  a  man  whose 
character  he  had  been  enabled  to  appreciate  during  a  confidential  in- 
tercourse of  long  continuance,  and  whom  [he]  must  know  incapable 
of  the  designs  attributed  to  him.  My  anxiety  on  this  subject,  has, 
however,  become  too  painful  to  be  alleviated  by  anticipations  which  no 
events  have  yet  tended  to  justify ;  and  in  this  state  of  intolerable  sus- 


420  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

pense  I  have  determined  to  address  myself  to  you,  and  request  that 
you  TV  ill,  in  my  name,  apply  to  the  President  for  a  removal  of  the  prose- 
cution now  existing  against  AAROX  BURR.  I  still  expect  it  from  him 
as  a  man  of  feeling  and  candor,  as  one  acting  for  the  world  and  for 
posterity. 

"  Statesmen,  I  am  aware,  deem  it  necessary  that  sentiments  of  liber- 
ality, and  even  justice,  should  yield  to  considerations  of  policy ;  but 
what  policy  can  require  the  absence  of  my  father  at  present  ?  Even 
had  he  contemplated  the  project  for  which  he  stands  arraigned,  evi- 
dently to  pursue  it  any  further  would  now  be  impossible.  There  is  not 
left  one  pretext  of  alarm  even  to  calumny;  for  bereft  of  fortune, 
of  popular  favor,  and  almost  of  friends,  what  could  he  accomplish  ? 
And  whatever  may  be  the  apprehensions  or  the  clamors  of  the  igno- 
rant and  the  interested,  surely  the  timid,  illiberal  system  which  would 
sacrifice  a  man  to  a  remote  and  unreasonable  possibility  that  he  might 
infringe  some  law  founded  on  an  unjust,  unwarrantable  suspicion  that 
he  would  desire  it,  cannot  be  approved  by  Mr.  Madison,  and  must  be 
unnecessary  to  a  President  so  loved,  so  honored.  Why,  then,  is  my 
father  banished  from  a  country  for  which  he  has  encountered  wounds 
and  dangers  and  fatigue  for  years  ?  Why  is  he  driven  from  his  friends, 
from  an  only  child,  to  pass  an  unlimited  time  in  exile,  and  that,  too,  at 
an  age  when  others  are  reaping  tne  harvest  of  past  toils,  or  ought  at 
least  to  be  providing  seriously  for  the  comfort  of  ensuing  years  ?  I  do 
not  seek  to  soften  you  by  this  recapitulation.  I  only  wish  to  remind 
you  of  all  the  injuries  which  are  inflicted  on  one  of  the  first  characters 
the  United  States  ever  produced. 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  assure  you  there  is  no  truth  in  a  report 
lately  circulated,  that  my  father  intends  returning  immediately.  He 
never  will  return  to  conceal  himself  in  a  country  on  which  he  has 
conferred  distinction. 

"  To  whatever  fate  Mr.  Madison  may  doom  this  application,  I  trust 
it  will  be  treated  with  delicacy.  Of  this  I  am  the  more  desirous  as 
Mr.  Alston  is  ignorant  of  the  step  I  have  taken  in  writing  to  you, 
which,  perhaps,  nothing  could  excuse  but  the  warmth  of  filial  affection. 
If  it  be  an  error,  attribute  it  to  the  indiscreet  zeal  of  a  daughter  whose 
soul  sinks  at  the  gloomy  prospect  of  a  long  and  indefinite  separation 
from  a  father  almost  adored,  and  who  can  leave  unattempted  nothing 
which  offers  the  slightest  hope  of  procuring  him  redress.  What,  in- 
deed, would  I  not  risk  once  more  to  see  him,  to  hang  upon  him,  to 
place  my  child  on  his  knee,  and  again  spend  my  days  in  the  happy 
occupation  of  endeavoring  to  anticipate  all  his  wishes. 


THEODOSIA  BUBB.  421 

"  Let  me  entreat,  my  dear  Madam,  that  you  will  have  the  considera- 
tion and  goodness  to  answer  me  as  speedily  as  possible ;  my  heart  is 
sore  with  doubt  and  patient  waiting  for  something  definitive.  No 
apologies  are  made  for  giving  you  this  trouble,  which  I  am  sure  you 
will  not  deem  irksome  to  take  for  a  daughter,  an  affectionate  daughter, 
thus  situated.  Inclose  your  letter  for  me  to  A.  J.  Frederic  Prevost, 
Esq.,  near  New  Rochelle,  New  York. 

"  That  every  happiness  may  attend  you, 
"  Is  the  sincere  wish  of 

"  THEO.  BURR  ALSTON." 

This  letter  was  probably  not  ineffectual.  Certain  it  is  that 
government  offered  no  serious  obstacle  to  Burr's  return,  and 
instituted  no  further  proceedings  against  him.  Probably,  too, 
Theodosia  received  some  kind  of  assurance  to  this  effect,  for  we 
find  her  urging  her  father,  not  only  to  return,  but  to  go  boldly  to 
New  York  among  his  old  friends,  and  resume  there  the  practice 
of  his  profession.  The  great  danger  to  be  apprehended  was 
from  his  creditors,  who  then  had  power  to  confine  a  debtor  within 
limits,  if  not  to  throw  him  into  prison.  "If  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst"  wrote  this  fond  and  devoted  daughter,  "I will  leave  every- 
thing to  suffer  loith  you"  The  Italics  are  her  own. 

He  came  at  length.  He  landed  in  Boston,  and  sent  word  of 
his  arrival  to  Theodosia.  Rejoiced  as  she  was,  she  replied 
vaguely,  partly  in  cipher,  fearing  lest  her  letter  might  be  opened 
on  the  way,  and  the  secret  of  her  father's  arrival  be  prematurely 
disclosed.  She  told  him  that  her  own  health  was  tolerable  ;  that 
her  child,  then  a  fine  boy  of  eleven,  was  well ;  that  "  his  little 
eoul  warmed  at  the  sound  of  his  grandfather's  name  " ;  and  that 
his  education,  under  a  competent  tutor,  was  proceeding  satisfac- 
torily. She  gave  directions  respecting  ner  father's  hoped-for 
journey  to  South  Carolina  in  the  course  of  the  summer;  and 
advised  him,  in  case  war  should  be  declared  with  England,  to 
offer  his  services  to  the  government.  He  reached  New  York 
in  May,  1812,  and  soon  had  the  pleasure  of  informing  his  daugh- 
ter that  his  reception  had  been  more  friendly  than  he  could  have 
expected,  and  that  in  time  his  prospects  were  f;iir  of  a  sufficient- 
ly  lucrative  practice. 


422  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

Surety,  now,  after  so  many  years  of  anxiety  and  sorrow,  The- 
odosia  —  still  a  young  woman,  not  thirty  years  of  age,  still 
enjoying  her  husband's  love  —  might  have  reasonably  expected 
a  happy  life.  Alas !  there  was  no  more  happiness  in  store  for 
her  on  this  side  of  the  grave.  The  first  letter  which  Burr 
received  from  his  son-in-law  after  his  arrival  in  New  York  con- 
tained news  which  struck  him  to  the  heart. 

"A  few  miserable  weeks  since,"  writes  Mr.  Alston,  "  and  in  spite  of 
all  the  embarrassments,  the  troubles,  and  disappointments  which  have 
fallen  to  our  lot  since  we  parted,  I  would  have  congratulated  you  on 
your  return  in  the  language  of  happiness.  With  my  wife  on  one  side 
and  my  boy  on  the  other,  I  felt  myself  superior  to  depression.  The 
present  was  enjoyed,  the  future  was  anticipated  with  enthusiasm.  One 
dreadful  blow  has  destroyed  us ;  reduced  us  to  the  veriest,  the  most 
sublimated  wretchedness.  That  boy,  on  whom  all  rested,  —  our  com- 
panion, our  friend,  —  he  who  was  to  have  transmitted  down  the 
mingled  blood  of  Theodosia  and  myself,  —  he  who  was  to  have  re- 
deemed all  your  glory,  and  shed  new  lustre  upon  our  families,  —  that 
boy,  at  once  our  happiness  and  our  pride,  is  taken  from  us,  —  is  dead. 
We  saw  him  dead.  My  own  hand  surrendered  him  to  the  grave ;  yet 
we  are  alive.  But  it  is  past.  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that  life  is 
a  burden,  which,  heavy  as  it  is,  we  shall  both  support,  if  not  with 
dignity,  at  least  with  decency  and  firmness.  Theodosia  has  endured 
all  that  a  human  being  could  endure;  but  her  admirable  mind  will 
triumph.  She  supports  herself  in  a  manner  worthy  of  your  daughter.' 

The  mother's  heart  was  almost  broken. 

"  There  is  no  more  joy  for  me,"  she  wrote.  "  The  world  is  a  blank. 
I  have  lost  my  boy.  My  child  is  gone  forever.  May  Heaven,  by  other 
blessings,  make  you  some  amends  for  the  noble  grandson  you  have  lost 
Alas !  my  dear  father,  I  do  live,  but  how  does  it  happen  ?  Of  what 
am  I  formed  that  I  live,  and  why  ?  Of  what  service  can  I  be  in  this 
world,  either  to  you  or  any  one  else,  with  a  body  reduced  to  prema- 
ture old  age,  and  a  mind  enfeebled  and  bewildered  ?  Yet,  since  it  is 
my  lot  to  live,  I  will  endeavor  to  fulfil  my  part,  and  exert  myself  to 
my  utmost,  though  this  life  must  henceforth  be  to  me  a  bed  of  thorns. 
Whichever  way  I  turn,  the  same  anguish  still  assails  me.  You  talk  of 
consolation.  Ah !  you  know  not  what  you  have  lost.  I  think  Omnip 
otence  could  give  me  no  equivalent  for  my  boy ;  no,  none,  —  none." 

She  could  not  be  comforted.     Her  health  gave  way.     Her 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  423 

husband  thought  that  if  anything  could  restore  her  to  tranquillity 
and  health  it  would  be  the  society  of  her  father ;  and  so,  at  the 
beginning  of  winter,  it  was  resolved  that  she  should  attempt  the 
dangerous  voyage.  Her  father  sent  a  medical  frieud  from  New 
York  to  attend  her. 

"  Mr.  Alston,"  wrote  this  gentleman,  "  seemed  rather  hurt  that  you 
should  conceive  it  necessary  to  send  a  person  here,  as  he  or  one  of  his 
brothers  would  attend  Mrs.  Alston  to  New  York.  I  told  him  you 
had  some  opinion  of  my  medical  talents ;  that  you  had  learned  your 
daughter  was  in  a  low  state  of  health,  and  required  unusual  attention, 
and  medical  attention  on  her  voyage ;  that  I  had  torn  myself  from  my 
family  to  perform  this  service  for  my  friend." 

And  again,  a  few  days  after  :  — 

"  I  have  engaged  a  passage  to  New  York  for  your  daughter  in  a 
pilot-boat  that  has  been  out  privateering,  but  has  come  in  here,  and  is 
refitting  merely  to  get  to  New  York.  My  only  fears  are  that  Gover- 
nor Alston  may  think  the  mode  of  conveyance  too  undignified,  and 
object  to  it ;  but  Mrs.  Alston  is  fully  bent  on  going.  You  must  not 
be  surprised  to  see  her  very  low,  feeble,  and  emaciated.  Her  com- 
plaint is  an  almost  incessant  nervous  fever." 

The  rest  is  known.  The  vessel  sailed.  Off  Cape  Hatteras, 
during  a  gale  that  swept  the  coast  from  Maine  to  Georgia,  the 
pilot-boat  went  down,  and  not  one  escaped  to  tell  the  tale.  The 
vessel  was  never  heard  of  more.  So  perished  this  noble,  gifted, 
ill-starred  lady. 

The  agonizing  scenes  that  followed  may  be  imagined.  Father 
and  husband  were  kept  long  in  suspense.  Even  when  many 
weeks  had  elapsed  without  bringing  tidings  of  the  vessel,  there 
still  remained  a  forlorn  hope  that  some  of  her  passengers  might 
have  been  rescued  by  an  outward-bound  ship,  and  might  return, 
after  a  year  or  two  had  gone  by,  from  some  distant  port.  Burr, 
it  is  said,  acquired  a  habit,  when  walking  upon  the  Battery,  of 
looking  wistfully  down  the  harbor  at  the  arriving  ships,  as  if  still 
cherishing  a  faint,  fond  hope  that  his  Theo  was  coming  to  him 
.  wm  the  Dther  side  of  the  world.  When,  years  after,  the  tale 
was  brought  to  him  that  his  daughter  had  been  carried  off  by 
pirates  and  might  be  still  alive,  he  said  •  "  No,  no,  no ;  if  ray  Thee 


424  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

had  survived  that  storm,  she  would  have  found  her  way  to  me, 
Nothing  could  have  kept  my  Theo  from  her  father." 

It  was  these  sad  events,  the  loss  of  his  daughter  and  her  boy, 
that  severed  Aaron  Burr  from  the  human  race.  Hope  died  with- 
in him.  Ambition  died.  He  yielded  to  his  doom,  and  walked 
among  men,  not  melancholy,  but  indifferent,  reckless,  and  alone. 
With  his  daughter  and  his  grandson  to  live  and  strive  for,  he 
might  have  done  something  in  his  later  years  to  redeem  his 
name  and  atone  for  his  errors.  Bereft  of  these,  he  had  not  in  his 
moral  nature  that  which  enables  men  who  have  gone  astray  to 
repent  and  begin  a  better  life. 

Theodosia's  death  broke  her  husband's  heart.  Few  letters  are 
BO  affecting  as  the  one  which  he  wrote  to  Burr  when,  at  length, 
the  certainty  of  her  loss  could  no  longer  be  resisted. 

"  My  boy  —  my  wife  —  gone  both  1  This,  then,  is  the  end  of  all  the 
hopes  we  had  formed.  You  may  well  observe  that  you  feel  severed 
from  the  human  race.  She  was  the  last  tie  that  bound  us  to  the  spe- 
cies. What  have  we  left  ?  .  .  .  .  Yet,  after  all,  he  is  a  poor  actor  who 
cannot  sustain  his  little  hour  upon  the  stage,  be  his  part  what  it  may. 
But  the  man  who  has  been  deemed  worthy  of  the  heart  of  Theodosia 
Burr,  and  who  has  felt  what  it  was  to  be  blessed  with  such  a  woman's, 
will  never  forget  his  elevation." 

He  survived  his  wife  four  years.  Among  the  papers  of  Theo- 
dosia was  found,  after  her  death,  a  letter  which  she  had  written  a 
few  years  before  she  died,  at  a  time  when  she  supposed  her  end 
was  near.  Upon  the  envelope  was  written,  —  "  My  husband.  To 
be  delivered  after  my  death.  I  wish  this  to  be  read  immediately, 
and  before  my  burial."  Her  husband  never  saw  it,  for  he  never 
had  the  courage  to  look  into  the  trunk  that  contained  her  treas- 
ures. But  after  his  death  the  trunk  was  sent  to  Burr,  who  found 
and  preserved  this  affecting  composition.  We  cannot  conclude 
our  narrative  more  fitly  than  by  transcribing  the  thoughts  that 
burdened  the  heart  of  Theodosia  in  view  of  her  departure  from 
the  world.  First,  she  gave  directions  respecting  the  disposal  of 
her  jewelry  and  trinkets,  giving  to  each  of  her  friends  some  token 
of  her  love.  Then  she  besought  her  husband  to  provide  at  onct 
for  the  support  of  "  Peggy,"  an  aged  servant  of  her  father,  for- 


THEODOSIA  BURR.  426 

merly  housekeeper  at  Richmond  Hill,  to  whom,  in  her  father's 
absence,  she  had  contrived  to  pay  a  small  pension.  She  then 
proceeded  in  these  affecting  terms  :  — 

"  To  you,  my  beloved,  I  leave  our  child ;  the  child  of  my  bosom, 
who  was  once  a  part  of  myself,  and  from  whom  I  shall  shortly  be  sep- 
arated by  the  cold  grave.  You  love  him  now ;  henceforth  love  him 
for  me  also.  And  oh,  my  husband,  attend  to  this  last  prayer  of  a  dot- 
ing mother.  Never,  never  listen  to  what  any  other  person  tells  you  of 
him.  Be  yourself  his  judge  on  all  occasions.  He  has  faults ;  see 
them,  and  correct  them  yourself.  Desist  not  an  instant  from  your  en- 
deavors to  secure  his  confidence.  It  is  a  work  which  requires  as  much 
uniformity  of  conduct  as  warmth  of  affection  toward  him.  I  know, 
my  beloved,  that  you  can  perceive  what  is  right  on  this  subject  as  on 
every  other.  But  recollect,  these  are  the  last  words  I  can  ever  utter. 
It  will  tranquillize  my  last  moments  to  have  disburdened  myself  of 
them. 

"  I  fear  you  will  scarcely  be  able  to  read  this  scrawl,  but  I  feel  hur- 
ried and  agitated.  Death  is  not  welcome  to  me.  I  confess  it  is  ever 
dreaded.  You  have  made  me  too  fond  of  life.  Adieu,  then,  thou 
kind,  thou  tender  husband.  Adieu,  friend  of  my  heart.  May  Heaven 
prosper  you,  and  may  we  meet  hereafter.  Adieu;  perhaps  we  may 
never  see  each  other  again  in  this  world.  You  are  away,  I  wished  to 
hold  you  fast,  and  prevented  you  from  going  this  morning.  But  He 
who  is  wisdom  itself  ordains  events ;  we  must  submit  to  them.  Least 
of  all  should  I  murmur.  I,  on  whom  so  many  blessings  have  been 
showered,  —  whose  days  have  been  numbered  by  bounties,  —  who  have 
had  such  a  husband,  such  a  child,  and  such  a  father.  O  pardon  me, 
my  God,  if  I  regret  leaving  these.  I  resign  myself.  Adieu,  once 
more,  and  for  the  last  time,  my  beloved.  Speak  of  me  often  to  our 
son.  Let  him  love  the  memory  of  his  mother,  and  let  him  know  how 
he  was  loved  by  her.  Your  wife,  your  fond  wife, 

THEO. 

"  Let  my  father  see  my  son  sometimes.  Do  not  be  unkind  toward 
him  whom  I  have  loved  so  much,  I  beseech  you.  Burn  all  my  papers 
except  my  father's  letters,  which  I  beg  you  to  return  him.  Adieu, 
my  sweet  boy.  Love  your  father ;  be  grateful  and  affectionate  to  him 
while  he  lives ;  be  the  pride  of  his  meridian,  the  support  of  his  depart- 
ing days.  Be  all  that  he  wishes;  for  he  made  your  mother  happy. 
Oh  !  my  heavenly  Father,  bless  them  both.  If  it  is  permitted,  I  will 
hover  round  you,  and  guard  you,  and  intercede  for  you.  I  hope  for 
happiness  in  the  next  world,  for  I  have  not  been  bad  in  this. 


426  THEODOSIA  BURR. 

"  I  had  nearly  forgotten  to  say  that  I  charge  you  not  to  allow  me  to 
be  stripped  and  washed,  as  is  usual.  I  am  pure  enough  thus  to  return 
to  dust.  Why,  then,  expose  nr«  person  ?  Pray  see  to  this.  If  it 
does  not  appear  contradictory  or  eilly,  I  beg  to  be  kept  as  long  as  pos- 
sible before  I  am  consigned  to  t'  earth." 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR. 


JOHN   JACOB  ASTOB,. 


WE  all  feel  some  curiosity  respecting  men  who  have  been 
eminent  in  anything,  —  even  in  crime;  and  as  this  cu- 
riosity is  natural  and  universal,  it  seems  proper  that  it  should  be 
gratified.  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR  surpassed  all  the  men  of  his 
generation  in  the  accumulation  of  wealth.  He  began  life  a  poor, 
hungry  German  boy,  and  died  worth  twenty  millions  of  dollars. 
These  facts  are  so  remarkable,  that  there  is  no  one  who  does  not 
feel  a  desire  to  know  by  which  means  the  result  was  produced, 
and  whether  the  game  was  played  fairly.  We  all  wish,  if  not 
to  be  rich,  yet  to  have  more  money  than  we  now  possess.  "We 
have  known  many  kinds  of  men,  but  never  one  who  felt  that  he 
had  quite  money  enough.  The  three  richest  men  now  living  in 
the  United  States  are  known  to  be  as  much  interested  in  the  in- 
crease of  their  possessions,  and  try  as  hard  to  increase  them,  as 
ever  they  did. 

This  universal  desire  to  accumulate  property  is  right,  and  ne- 
cessary to  the  progress  of  the  race.  Like  every  other  proper 
and  virtuous  desire,  it  may  become  excessive,  and  then  it  is  a 
vice.  So  long  as  a  man  seeks  property  honestly,  and  values  it 
as  the  means  of  independence,  as  the  means  of  educating  and 
comforting  his  family,  as  the  means  of  securing  a  safe,  dignified, 
and  tranquil  old  age,  as  the  means  of  private  charity  and  public 
beneficence,  let  him  bend  himself  heartily  to  his  work,  and 
enjoy  the  reward  of  his  labors.  It  is  a  fine  and  pleasant  thing 
to  prosper  in  business,  and  to  have  a  store  to  fall  back  upon  in 
time  of  trouble. 

The  reader  may  learn  from  Aster's  career  how  money  is  ac- 
cumulated. Whether  he  can  learn  from  it  how  money  ought  to 


430  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR. 

be  employed  when  it  is  obtained,  he  must  judge  for  himself.  In 
founding  the  Astor  Library,  John  Jacob  Astor  did  at  least 
one  magnificent  deed,  for  which  thousands  unborn  will  honor  his 
memory.  That  single  act  would  atone  for  many  errors. 

In  the  hall  of  the  Astor  Library,  on  the  sides  of  two  of  the 
pillars  supporting  its  lofty  roof  of  glass,  are  two  little  shelves, 
each  holding  a  single  work,  never  taken  down  and  seldom  pe- 
rused, but  nevertheless  well  worthy  the  attention  of  those  who 
are  curious  in  the  subject  of  which  they  treat,  namely,  the  human 
face  divine.  They  are  two  marble  busts,  facing  each  other  ;  one 
of  the  founder  of  the  Library,  the  other  of  its  first  President, 
Washington  Irving.  A  finer  study  in  physiognomy  than  these 
two  busts  present  can  nowhere  be  found ;  for  never  were  two 
men  more  unlike  than  Astor  and  Irving,  and  never  were  charac- 
ter and  personal  history  more  legibly  recorded  than  in  these  por- 
traits in  marble.  The  countenance  of  the  author  is  round,  full, 
and  handsome,  the  hair  inclining  to  curl,  and  the  chin  to  double. 
It  is  the  face  of  a  happy  and  genial  man,  formed  to  shine  at  the 
fireside  and  to  beam  from  the  head  of  a  table.  It  is  an  open, 
candid,  liberal,  hospitable  countenance,  indicating  far  more  power 
to  please  than  to  compel,  but  displaying  in  the  position  and  car- 
riage of  the  head  much  of  that  dignity  which  we  are  accustomed 
to  call  Roman.  The  face  of  the  millionnaire,  on  the  contrary,  is 
all  strength  ;  every  line  in  it  tells  of  concentration  and  power. 
The  hair  is  straight  and  long ;  the  forehead  neither  lofty  nor  am- 
ple, but  powerfully  developed  in  the  perceptive  and  executive 
organs  ;  the  eyes  deeper  set  in  the  head  than  those  of  Daniel 
Webster,  and  overhung  with  immense  bushy  eyebrows ;  the  nose 
large,  long,  and  strongly  arched,  the  veritable  nose  of  a  man- 
compeller ;  the  mouth,  chin,  and  jaws  all  denoting  firmness  and 
force ;  the  chest,  that  seat  and  throne  of  physical  power,  is  broad 
and  deep,  and  the  back  of  the  neck  has  something  of  the  muscu- 
lar fulness  which  we  observe  in  the  prize-fighter  and  the  bull ; 
the  head  behind  the  ears  showing  enough  of  propelling  power, 
but  almost  totally  wanting  in  the  passional  propensities  which 
waste  the  force  of  the  faculties,  and  dive  rt  the  man  from  his  prin- 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR.  431 

wpal  object  As  the  spectator  stands  midway  between  the  two 
busts,  at  some  distance  from  both,  Irviug  has  the  larger  and  the 
kinglier  air,  and  the  face  of  Astor  seems  small  and  set.  It  is 
only  when  you  get  close  to  the  bust  of  Astor,  observing  the 
Btrength  of  each  feature  and  its  perfect  proportion  to  the  rest,  — 
force  everywhere,  superfluity  nowhere,  —  that  you  recognize  the 
monarch  of  the  counting-room ;  the  brain  which  nothing  could 
confuse  or  disconcert ;  the  purpose  that  nothing  could  divert  or 
defeat ;  the  man  who  could  with  ease  and  pleasure  gra^p  and  con- 
trol the  multitudinous  concerns  of  a  business  that  embraced  the 
habited  and  unhabited  globe,  —  that  employed  ships  in  every 
sea,  and  men  in  every  clime,  and  brought  in  to  the  coffers  of  the 
merchant  the  revenue  of  a  king.  That  speechless  bust  tells  us 
how  it  was  that  this  man,  from  suffering  in  his  father's  poverty- 
stricken  house  the  habitual  pang  of  hunger,  arrived  at  the  great- 
est fortune,  perhaps,  ever  accumulated  in  a  single  lifetime ;  you 
perceive  that  whatever  thing  this  strong  and  compact  man  set 
himself  to  do,  he  would  be  certain  to  achieve  unless  stopped  by 
something  as  powerful  as  a  law  of  nature. 

The  monument  of  these  two  gifted  men  is  the  airy  and 
graceful  interior  of  which  their  busts  are  the  only  ornament. 
Astor  founded  the  Library,  but  it  was  probably  his  regard  for 
Irving  that  induced  him  to  appropriate  part  of  his  wealth  for  a 
purpose  not  in  harmony  with  his  own  humor.  Irving  is  known 
to  us  all,  as  only  wits  and  poets  are  ever  known.  But  of  the 
singular  being  who  possessed  so  remarkable  a  genius  for  accumu- 
lation, of  which  this  Library  is  one  of  the  results,  little  has  been 
imparted  to  the  public,  and  of  that  little  the  greater  part  is  fabu- 
lous. 

A  hundred  years  ago,  in  the  poor  little  village  of  "Waldorf,  in 
the  duchy  of  Baden,  lived  a  jovial,  good-for-nothing  butcher, 
named  Jacob  Astor,  who  felt  himself  much  more  at  home  in  the 
beer-house  than  at  the  fireside  of  his  own  house  in  the  principal 
street  of  the  village.  At  the  best,  the  butcher  of  Waldorf  must 
have  been  a  poor  man ;  for,  at  that  day,  the  inhabitants  of  a  Ger- 
man village  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  fresh  meat  only  on  great  days, 
such  as  those  of  confirmation,  baptism,  weddings,  and  Christmas. 


432  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

The  village  itself  was  remote  and  insignificant,  and  though  situ 
ated  in  the  valley  of  the  Rhine,  the  native  home  of  the  vine,  a 
region  of  proverbial  fertility,  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Waldorf 
was  not  a  rich  or  very  populous  country.  The  home  of  Jacob 
Astor,  therefore,  seldom  knew  any  medium  between  excessive 
abundance  and  extreme  scarcity,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  make 
the  superfluity  of  to-day  provide  for  the  need  of  to-morrow ; 
which  was  the  more  unfortunate  as  the  periods  of  abundance 
were  few  and  far  between,  and  the  times  of  scarcity  extended 
over  the  greater  part  of  the  year.  It  was  the  custom  then  in 
Germany  for  every  farmer  to  provide  a  fatted  pig,  calf,  or  bul- 
lock, against  the  time  of  harvest;  and  as  that  joyful  season  ap- 
proached, the  village  butcher  went  the  round  of  the  neighborhood, 
stopping  a  day  or  two  at  each  house  to  kill  the  animals  and  con- 
vert their  flesh  into  bacon,  sausages,  or  salt  beef.  During  this 
happy  time,  Jacob  Astor,  a  merry  dog,  always  welcome  where 
pleasure  and  hilarity  were  going  forward,  had  enough  to  drink, 
and  his  family  had  enough  to  eat.  But  the  merry  time  lasted 
only  six  weeks.  Then  set  in  the  season  of  scarcity,  which  was 
only  relieved  when  there  was  a  festival  of  the  church,  a  wedding, 
a  christening,  or  a  birthday  in  some  family  of  the  village  rich 
enough  to  provide  an  animal  for  Jacob's  knife.  The  wife  of  this 
idle  and  improvident  butcher  was  such  a  wife  as  such  men  usually 
contrive  to  pick  up,  —  industrious,  saving,  and  capable  ;  the  main- 
stay of  his  house.  Often  she  remonstrated  with  her  wasteful  and 
beer-loving  husband  ;  the  domestic  sky  was  often  overcast,  and 
the  children  were  glad  to  fly  from  the  noise  and  dust  of  the  tem- 
pest. 

This  roistering  village  butcher  and  his  worthy,  much-enduring 
wife  were  the  parents  of  our  millionnaire.  They  had  four  sons : 
George  Peter  Astor,  born  in  1752;  Henry  Astor,  born  in  1754; 
John  Melchior  Astor,  born  in  1759 ;  and  John  Jacob  Astor, 
born  July  17,  1763.  Each  of  these  sons  made  haste  to  fly  from 
the  privations  and  contentions  of  their  home  as  soon  as  they  were 
old  enough ;  and,  what  is  more  remarkable,  each  of  them  had  a 
/ast  of  character  precisely  the  opposite  of  their  thriftless  father. 
They  were  all  saving,  industrious,  temperate,  and  enterprising, 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB.  433 

and  all  of  them  became  prosperous  men  at  an  early  period  of 
their  career.  They  were  all  duly  instructed  in  their  father's 
trade ;  each  in  turn  carried  about  the  streets  of  Waldorf  the 
basket  of  meat,  and  accompanied  the  father  in  his  harvest  slaugh- 
tering tours.  Jovial  Jacob,  we  are  told,  gloried  in  being  a 
butcher,  but  three  of  his  sons,  much  to  his  disgust,  manifested  a 
repugnance  to  it,  which  was  one  of  the  causes  of  their  flight  from 
the  parental  nest.  The  eldest,  who  was  the  first  to  go,  made  his 
way  to  London,  where  an  uncle  was  established  in  business  as  a 
maker  of  musical  instruments.  Astor  and  Broadwood  was  the 
name  of  the  firm,  a  house  that  still  exists  under  the  title  of 
Broadwood  and  Co.,  one  of  the  most  noted  makers  of  pianos  in 
England.  In  his  uncle's  manufactory  George  Astor  served  an 
apprenticeship,  and  became  at  length  a  partner  in  the  firm. 
Henry  Astor  went  next.  He  alone  of  his  father's  sons  took  to 
his  father's  trade.  It  used  to  be  thrown  in  his  teeth,  when  he 
was  a  thriving  butcher  in  the  city  of  New  York,  that  he  had 
come  over  to  America  as  a  private  in  the  Hessian  army.  This 
may  only  have  been  the  groundless  taunt  of  an  envious  rival.  It 
is  certain,  however,  that  he  was  a  butcher  in  New  York  when  it 
was  a  British  post  during  the  revolutionary  war,  and,  remaining 
after  the  evacuation,  made  a  large  fortune  in  his  business.  The 
third  son,  John  Melchior  Astor,  found  employment  in  Germany, 
and  arrived,  at  length,  at  the  profitable  post  of  steward  to  a 
nobleman's  estate. 

Abandoned  thus  by  his  three  brothers,  John  Jacob  Astor  had 
to  endure  for  some  years  a  most  cheerless  and  miserable  lot.  He 
lost  his  mother,  too,  from  whom  he  had  derived  all  that  was  good 
in  his  character  and  most  of  the  happiness  of  his  childhood.  A 
step-mother  replaced  her,  "  who  loved  not  Jacob,"  nor  John 
Jacob.  The  father,  still  devoted  to  pleasure,  quarrelled  so  bitterly 
with  his  new  wife,  that  his  son  was  often  glad  to  escape  to  the 
house  of  a  schoolfellow  (living  in  1854),  where  he  would  pass 
the  night  in  a  garret  or  outhouse,  thankfully  accepting  for  his 
supper  a  crust  of  dry  bread,  and  returning  the  next  morning  tc 
assist  in  the  slaughter-house  or  carry  out  the  meat.  It  was  not 
often  that  he  had  enough  to  eat ;  his  clothes  were  of  the  poorest 

19  BB 


434  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

description ;  and,  as  to  money,  be  absolutely  had  none  of  it.  The 
unhappiness  of  bis  home  and  the  misconduct  of  his  father  made 
him  ashamed  to  join  in  the  sports  of  the  village  boys ;  and  he 
passed  much  of  his  leisure  alone,  brooding  over  the  unhappiness 
of  his  lot.  The  family  increased,  but  not  its  income.  It  is  re- 
corded of  him  that  he  tended  his  little  sisters  with  care  and  fond- 
ness, and  sought  in  all  ways  to  lessen  the  dislike  and  ill-humor  of 
his  step-mother. 

It  is  not  hardship,  however,  that  enervates  a  lad.  It  is  in- 
dulgence and  luxury  that  do  that.  He  grew  a  stout,  healthy, 
tough,  and  patient  boy,  diligent  and  skilful  in  the  discharge  of 
his  duty,  often  supplying  the  place  of  his  father  absent  in  merry- 
making. If,  in  later  life,  he  overvalued  money,  it  should  not  be 
forgotten  that  few  men  have  had  a  harder  experience  of  the  want 
of  money  at  the  age  when  character  is  forming. 

The  bitterest  lot  has  its  alleviations.  Sometimes  a  letter  would 
reach  him  from  over  the  sea,  telling  of  the  good  fortune  of  a 
brother  in  a  distant  land.  In  his  old  age  he  used  to  boast  that  in 
his  boyhood  he  walked  forty-five  miles  in  one  day  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  getting  a  letter  that  had  arrived  from  England  or 
America.  The  Astors  have  always  been  noted  for  the  strength 
of  their  family  affection.  Our  millionnaire  forgot  much  that  he 
ought  to  have  remembered,  but  he  was  not  remiss  in  fulfilling 
the  obligations  of  kindred. 

It  appears,  too,  that  he  was  fortunate  in  having  a  better  school- 
master than  could  generally  be  found  at  that  day  in  a  village 
school  of  Germany.  Valentine  Jeune  was  his  name,  a  French 
Protestant,  whose  parents  had  fled  from  their  country  during  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIV.  He  was  an  active  and  sympathetic  teacher, 
and  bestowed  unusual  pains  upon  the  boy,  partly  because  he 
pitied  his  unhappy  situation,  and  partly  because  of  his  aptitude 
to  learn.  Nevertheless,  the  school  routine  of  those  days  was  ex- 
tremely limited.  To  read  and  write,  to  cipher  as  far  as  the  Rule 
of  Three,  to  learn  the  Catechism  by  heart,  and  to  sing  the  Church 
Hymns  "so  that  the  windows  should  rattle," — these  were  the 
Bole  accomplishments  of  even  the  best  pupils  of  Valentine  Jeune. 
Baden  was  then  under  the  rule  of  a  Catholic  family  It  was  a 


JOHN  JACOB   ASTOB.  435 

gaying  in  "Waldorf  that  no  man  could  be  appointed  a  swineherd 
who  was  not  a  Catholic,  and  that  if  a  mayoralty  were  vacant  the 
swineherd  must  have  the  place  if  there  were  no  other  Catholic 
in  the  town.  Hence  it  was  that  the  line  which  separated  the 
Protestant  minority  from  the  Catholic  majority  was  sharply  de- 
fined, and  the  Protestant  children  were  the  more  thoroughly  in- 
doctrinated. Rev.  John  Philip  Steiner,  the  Protestant  pastor  of 
Waldorf,  a  learned  and  faithful  minister,  was  as  punctilious  in  re- 
quiring from  the  children  the  thorough  learning  of  the  Catechism 
as  a  German  sergeant  was  in  exacting  all  the  niceties  of  the 
parade.  Young  Astor  became,  therefore,  a  very  decided  Protes- 
tant ;  he  lived  and  died  a  member  of  the  Church  in  which  he  was 
born. 

The  great  day  in  the  life  of  a  German  child  is  that  of  his  con- 
firmation, which  usually  occurs  in  his  fourteenth  year.  The 
ceremony,  which  was  performed  at  Waldorf  every  two  years,  was 
a  festival  at  once  solemn  and  joyous.  The  children,  long  prepared 
beforehand  by  the  joint  labors  of  minister,  schoolmaster,  and 
parents,  walk  in  procession  to  the  church,  the  girls  in  white,  the 
boys  in  their  best  clothes,  and  there,  after  the  requisite  examina- 
tions, the  rite  is  performed,  and  the  Sacrament  is  administered. 
The  day  concludes  with  festivity.  Confirmation  also  is  the  point 
of  division  between  childhood  and  youth,  —  between  absolute  de- 
pendence and  the  beginning  of  responsibility.  After  confirmation, 
the  boys  of  a  German  peasant  take  their  place  in  life  as  appren- 
tices or  as  servants ;  and  the  girls,  unless  their  services  are  re- 
quired at  home,  are  placed  in  situations.  Childhood  ends,  matu- 
rity begins,  when  the  child  has  tasted  for  the  first  time  the  bread 
and  wine  of  the  Communion.  Whether  a  boy  then  becomes  an 
apprentice  or  a  servant  depends  upon  whether  his  parents  have 
been  provident  enough  to  save  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  pay 
the  usual  premium  required  by  a  master  as  compensation  for  his 
trouble  in  teaching  his  trade.  This  premium  varied  at  tlu.t  day 
from  fifty  dollars  to  two  hundred,  according  to  the  difficulty  and 
respectability  of  the  vocation.  A  carpenter  or  a  blacksmith 
might  be  satisfied  with  a  premium  of  sixty  or  seventy  dollars, 
while  a  cabinet-maker  would  demand  a  hundred,  and  a  musical 
instrument  maker  or  a  clock-maker  two  hundred. 


436  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR. 

On  Palm  Sunday,  1777,  when  he  was  about  fourteen  years  of 
age,  John  Jacob  Astor  was  confirmed.  He  then  consulted  his 
father  upon  his  future.  Money  to  apprentice  him  there  was  none 
in  the  paternal  coffers.  The  trade  of  butcher  he  knew  and  dis- 
liked. Nor  was  he  inclined  to  accept  as  his  destiny  for  life  the 
condition  of  servant  or  laborer.  The  father,  who  thought  the 
occupation  of  butcher  one  of  the  best  in  the  world,  and  who 
needed  the  help  of  his  son,  particularly  in  the  approaching  season 
of  harvest,  paid  no  heed  to  the  entreaties  of  the  lad,  who  saw 
himself  condemned  without  hope  to  a  business  which  he  loathed, 
and  to  labor  at  it  without  reward. 

A  deep  discontent  settled  upon  him.  The  tidings  of  the  good 
fortune  of  his  brothers  inflamed  his  desire  to  seek  his  fortune  in 
the  world.  The  news  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  which  drew 
all  eyes  upon  America,  and  in  which  the  people  of  all  lands  sym- 
pathized with  the  struggling  colonies,  had  its  effect  upon  him. 
He  began  to  long  for  the  "  New  Land,"  as  the  Germans  then 
styled  America ;  and  it  is  believed  in  Waldorf  that  soon  after  the 
capture  of  Burgoyne  had  spread  abroad  a  confidence  in  the  final 
success  of  the  colonists,  the  youth  formed  the  secret  determina- 
tion to  emigrate  to  America.  Nevertheless,  he  had  to  wait  three 
miserable  years  longer,  until  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis  made  it 
certain  that  America  was  to  be  free,  before  he  was  able  to  enter 
upon  the  gratification  of  his  desire. 

In  getting  to  America,  he  displayed  the  same  sagacity  in  adapt- 
ing means  to  ends  that  distinguished  him  during  his  business  ca- 
reer in  New  York.  Money  he  had  never  had  in  his  life,  beyond 
a  few  silver  coins  of  the  smallest  denomination.  His  father  had 
none  to  give  him,  even  if  he  had  been  inclined  to  do  so.  It  was 
only  when  the  lad  was  evidently  resolved  to  go  that  he  gave  a 
slow,  reluctant  consent  to  his  departure.  Waldorf  is  nearly  three 
hundred  miles  from  the  seaport  in  Holland  most  convenient  for 
his  purpose.  Despite  the  difficulties,  this  penniless  youth  formed 
the  resolution  of  going  down  the  Rhine  to  Holland,  there  taking 
ship  for  London,  where  he  would  join  his  brother,  and,  while 
earning  money  for  his  passage  to  America,  learn  the  language  of 
the  country  to  which  he  was  destined.  It  appears  that  he  dreaded 


JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR.  437 

more  the  difficulties  of  the  English  tongue  than  he  did  those  ot 
the  long  and  expensive  journey ;  but  he  was  resolved  not  to  sail 
for  America  until  he  had  acquired  the  language,  and  saved  a  lit- 
tle money  beyond  the  expenses  of  the  voyage.  It  appears,  also, 
that  there  prevailed  in  Baden  the  belief  that  Americans  were 
exceedingly  selfish  and  inhospitable,  and  regarded  the  poor  emi- 
grant only  in  the  light  of  prey.  John  Jacob  was  determined  not 
to  land  among  such  a  people  without  the  means  of  understanding 
their  tricks  and  paying  his  way.  tin  all  ways,  too,  he  endeavored 
to  get  a  knowledge  of  the  country  to  which  he  was  going. 

With  a  small  bundle  of  clothes  hung  over  his  shoulder  upon  a 
stick,  with  a  crown  or  two  in  his  pocket,  he  said  the  last  farewell 
to  his  father  and  his  friends,  and  set  out  on  foot  for  the  Rhine,  a 
few  miles  distant.  Valentine  Jeune,  his  old  schoolmaster,  said, 
as  the  lad  was  lost  to  view :  "I  am  not  afraid  of  Jacob ;  he  '11  get 
through  the  world.  He  has  a  clear  head  and  everything  right 
behind  the  ears."  He  was  then  a  stout,  strong  lad  of  nearly 
seventeen,  exceedingly  well  made,  though  slightly  undersized, 
and  he  had  a  clear,  composed,  intelligent  look  in  the  eyes,  which 
seemed  to  ratify  the  prediction  of  the  schoolmaster.  He  strode 
manfully  out  of  town,  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  a  sob  in  his 
throat,  —  for  he  loved  his  father,  his  friends,  and  his  native  vil- 
lage, though  his  lot  there  had  been  forlorn  enough.  While  still 
in  sight  of  Waldorf,  he  sat  down  under  a  tree  and  thought  of 
the  future  before  him  and  the  friends  he  had  left.  He  there,  as 
he  used  to  relate  in  after-life,  made  three  resolutions :  to  be  hon- 
est, to  be  industrious,  and  not  to  gamble,  —  excellent  resolutions, 
as  far  as  they  go.  Having  sat  awhile  under  the  tree,  he  took  up 
his  bundle  and  resumed  his  journey  with  better  heart. 

It  was  by  no  means  the  intention  of  this  sagacious  youth  to 
walk  all  the  way  to  the  sea-coast.  There  was  a  much  more  con- 
venient way  at  that  time  of  accomplishing  the  distance,  even  to  a 
young  man  with  only  two  dollars  in  his  pocket.  The  Black  For- 
est is  partly  in  Astor's  native  Baden.  The  rafts  of  timber  cut  In 
the  Black  Forest,  instead  of  floating  down  the  Rhine  in  the  man- 
ner practised  in  America,  used  to  be  rowed  by  sixty  or  eighty 
men  each,  who  were  paid  high  wages,  as  the  labor  was  severe. 


438  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOB. 

Large  numbers  of  stalwart  emigrants  availed  themselves  of  this 
mode  of  getting  from  the  interior  to  the  sea-coast,  by  which  they 
earned  their  subsistence  on  the  way  and  about  ten  dollars  in 
money.  The  tradition  in  Waldorf  is,  that  young  Astor  worked 
his  passage  down  the  Rhine,  and  earned  his  passage-money  to 
England  as  an  oarsman  on  one  of  these  rafts.  Hard  as  the  labor 
was,  the  oarsmen  had  a  merry  time  of  it,  cheering  their  toil  with 
jest  and  song  by  night  and  day.  On  the  fourteenth  day  after 
leaving  home,  our  youth  found  himself  at  a  Dutch  seaport,  with 
a  larger  sum  of  money  than  he  had  ever  before  possessed.  He 
took  passage  for  London,  where  he  landed  a  few  days  after,  in  total 
ignorance  of  the  place  and  the  language.  His  brother  welcomed 
him  with  German  warmth,  and  assisted  him  to  procure  employ- 
ment, —  probably  in  the  flute  and  piano  manufactory  of  Astor 
and  Broadwood. 

As  the  foregoing  brief  account  of  the  early  life  of  John  Jacob 
Astor  differs  essentially  from  any  previously  published  in  the 
United  States,  it  is  proper  that  the  reader  should  be  informed  of 
the  sources  whence  we  have  derived  information  so  novel  and  un- 
expected. The  principal  source  is  a  small  biography  of  Astor 
published  in  Germany  about  ten  years  ago,  written  by  a  native 
of  Baden,  a  Lutheran  clergyman,  who  gathered  his  material 
in  Waldorf,  where  were  then  living  a  few  aged  persons  who 
remembered  Astor  when  he  was  a  sad  and  solitary  lad  in  his 
father's  disorderly  house.  The  statements  of  this  little  book  are 
confirmed  by  what  some  of  the  surviving  friends  and  descend- 
ants of  Mr.  Astor  in  New  York  remember  of  his  own  conversa- 
tion respecting  his  early  days.  He  seldom  spoke  of  his  life  in 
Germany,  though  he  remembered  his  native  place  with  fondness, 
revisited  it  in  the  time  of  his  prosperity,  pensioned  his  father, 
and  forgot  not  Waldorf  in  his  will ;  but  the  little  that  he  did  say 
of  his  youthful  years  accords  with  the  curious  narrative  in  the 
work  to  which  we  have  alluded.  We  believe  the  reader  may 
rely  on  our  story  as  being  essentially  true. 

Astor  brought  to  London,  according  to  our  quaint  Lutheran, 
"a  pious,  true,  and  godly  spirit,  a  clear  understanding,  a  sound 
youthful  elbow-grease,  and  the  wish  to  put  it  to  good  use."  Dur- 


JOHN  JACOB   ASTOB.  439 

ing  the  two  years  of  his  residence  in  the  British  metropolis,  he 
strove  most  assiduously  for  three  objects :  1.  To  save  money ;  2. 
To  acquire  the  English  language;  3.  To  get  information  respecting 
America.  Much  to  his  relief  and  gratification,  he  found  the  ac- 
quisition of  the  language  to  be  the  least  of  his  difficulties.  Work- 
ing in  a  shop  with  English  mechanics,  and  having  few  German 
friends,  he  was  generally  dependent  upon  the  language  of  the 
country  for  the  communication  of  his  desires ;  and  he  was  as 
much  surprised  as  delighted  to  find  how  many  points  of  similarity 
there  were  between  the  two  languages.  In  about  six  weeks,  he 
used  to  say,  he  could  make  himself  understood  a  little  in  English, 
and  long  before  he  left  London  he  could  speak  it  fluently.  He 
never  learned  to  write  English  correctly  in  his  life,  nor  could  he 
ever  speak  it  without  a  decided  German  accent ;  but  he  could  al- 
ways express  his  meaning  with  simplicity  and  force,  both  orally 
and  in  writing.  Trustworthy  information  respecting  America,  in. 
the  absence  of  maps,  gazetteers,  and  books  of  travel,  was  more 
difficult  to  procure.  The  ordinary  Englishman  of  that  day  re- 
garded America  with  horror  or  contempt  as  perverse  and  rebel- 
lious colonies,  making  a  great  to-do  about  a  paltry  tax,  and  giving 
"  the  best  of  kings "  a  world  of  trouble  for  nothing.  He  prob- 
ably heard  little  of  the  thundering  eloquence  with  which  Fox, 
Pitt,  Burke,  and  Sheridan  were  nightly  defending  the  American 
cause  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  assailing  the  infatuation  of 
the  Government  in  prosecuting  a  hopeless  war.  As  often,  how- 
ever, as  our  youth  met  with  any  one  who  had  been  in  America, 
he  plied  him  with  questions,  and  occasionally  he  heard  from  his 
brother  in  New  York.  Henry  Astor  was  already  established  as 
a  butcher  on  his  own  account,  wheeling  home  in  a  wheelbarrow 
from  Bull's  Head  his  slender  purchases  of  sheep  and  calves.  But 
the  great  difficulty  of  John  Jacob  in  London  was  the  accumu- 
lation of  money.  Having  no  trade,  his  wages  were  necessarily 
small.  Though  he  rose  with  the  lark,  and  was  at  work  as  early 
as  five  in  the  morning,  —  though  he  labored  with  all  his  mighty 
and  saved  every  farthing  that  he  could  spare,  —  it  was  two  years 
before  he  had  saved  enough  for  his  purpose.  In  September 
1783,  he  possessed  a  good  suit  of  Sunday  clothes,  in  the  Eng 


440  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

lish  style,  and  about  fifteen  English  guineas,  —  the  total  result 
of  two  years  of  unremitting  toil  and  most  pinching  economy  ; 
and  here  again  charity  requires  the  remark  that  if  Astor  the  mil- 
lionnaire  carried  the  virtue  of  economy  to  an  extreme,  it  was 
Astor  the  struggling  youth  in  a  strange  land  who  learned  the 
value  of  money. 

In  that  month  of  September,  1783,  the  news  reached  London 
that  Dr.  Franklin  and  his  associates  in  Paris,  after  two  years  of 
negotiation,  had  signed  the  definitive  treaty  which  completed  the 
independence  of  the  United  States.  Franklin  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  predicting  that  as  soon  as  America  had  become  an  inde- 
pendent nation,  the  best  blood  in  Europe,  and  some  of  the  finest 
fortunes,  would  hasten  to  seek  a  career  or  an  asylum  in  the  New 
World.  Perhaps  he  would  have  hardly  recognized  the  emigra- 
tion of  this  poor  German  youth  as  part  of  the  fulfilment  of  his 
prophecy.  Nevertheless,  the  news  of  the  conclusion  of  the  treaty 
had  no  sooner  reached  England  than  young  Astor,  then  twenty 
years  old,  began  to  prepare  for  his  departure  for  the  "  New 
Land,"  and  in  November  he  embarked  for  Baltimore.  He  paid 
five  of  his  guineas  for  a  passage  in  the  steerage,  which  entitled 
him  to  sailors'  fare  of  salt  beef  and  biscuit.  He  invested  part  of 
flis  remaining  capital  in  seven  flutes,  and  carried  the  rest,  about 
five  pounds  sterling,  in  the  form  of  money. 

America  gave  a  cold  welcome  to  the  young  emigrant.  The 
winter  of  1783  —  4  was  one  of  the  celebrated  severe  winters  on 
both  sides  of  the  ocean.  November  gales  and  December  storms 
wreaked  all  their  fury  upon  the  ship,  retarding  its  progress  so 
long  that  January  arrived  before  she  had  reached  Chesapeake 
Bay.  Floating  ice  filled  the  bay  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
and  a  January  storm  drove  the  ship  among  the  masses  with  such 
force,  that  she  was  in  danger  of  being  broken  to  pieces.  It  was 
on  one  of  those  days  of  peril  and  consternation,  that  young  Astor 
appeared  on  deck  in  his  best  clothes,  and  on  being  asked  the  rea- 
son of  this  strange  proceeding,  said  that  if  he  escaped  with  life  he 
should  save  his  best  clothes,  and  if  he  lost  it  his  clothes  would  be 
of  no  further  use  to  him.  Tradition  further  reports  that  he,  a 
steerage  passenger,  ventured  one  day  to  come  upoa  the  quarter- 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR.  441 

deck,  when  the  captain  roughly  ordered  him  forward.  Tradition 
adds  that  that  very  captain,  twenty  years  after,  commanded  a 
ship  owned  by  the  steerage  passenger.  When  the  ship  was  with- 
in a  day's  sail  of  her  port  the  wind  died  away,  the  cold  increased, 
and  the  next  morning  beheld  the  vessel  hard  and  fast  in  a  sea  of  ice. 
For  two  whole  months  she  remained  immovable.  Provisions 
gave  out.  The  passengers  were  only  relieved  when  the  ice  ex- 
tended to  the  shore,  and  became  strong  enough  to  afford  commu- 
nication with  other  ships  and  with  the  coasts  of  the  bay.  Some 
of  the  passengers  made  their  way  to  the  shore,  and  travelled  by 
land  to  their  homes ;  but  this  resource  was  not  within  the  means 
of  our  young  adventurer,  and  he  was  obliged  to  stick  to  the  ship. 
Fortune  is  an  obsequious  jade,  that  favors  the  strong  and  turns 
her  back  upon  the  weak.  This  exasperating  delay  of  two  months 
was  the  means  of  putting  young  Astor  upon  the  shortest  and  easi- 
est road  to  fortune  that  the  continent  of  America  then  afforded 
to  a  poor  man.  Among  his  fellow-passengers  there  was  one 
German,  with  whom  he  made  acquaintance  on  the  voyage,  and 
with  whom  he  continually  associated  during  the  detention  of  the 
winter.  They  told  each  other  their  past  history,  their  present 
plans,  their  future  hopes.  The  stranger  informed  young  Astor 
that  he  too  had  emigrated  to  America,  a  few  years  before,  with- 
out friends  or  money  ;  that  he  had  soon  managed  to  get  into  the 
business  of  buying  furs  of  the  Indians,  and  of  the  boatmen  com- 
ing to  New  York  from  the  river  settlements  ;  that  at  length  he 
had  embarked  all  his  capital  in  skins,  and  had  taken  them  him- 
self to  England  in  a  returning  transport,  where  he  had  sold  them 
to  great  advantage,  and  had  invested  the  proceeds  in  toys  and 
trinkets,  with  which  to  continue  his  trade  in  the  wilderness.  He 
strongly  advised  Astor  to  follow  his  example.  He  told  him  the 
prices  of  the  various  skins  in  America,  and  the  prices  they  com- 
manded in  London.  With  German  friendliness  he  imparted  to 
him  the  secrets  of  the  craft :  told  him  where  to  buy,  how  to  pack, 
transport,  and  preserve  the  skins  ;  the  names  of  the  principal 
dealers  in  New  York,  Montreal,  and  London ;  and  the  season  of 
the  year  when  the  skins  were  most  abundant.  All  this  was  ii* 
teresting  to  the  young  man ;  but  he  asked  his  friend  how  it  wa/ 


442  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR. 

possible  to  begin  such  a  business  without  capital.  The  stranger 
told  him  that  no  great  capital  was  required  for  a  beginning. 
With  a  basket  of  toys,  or  even  of  cakes,  he  said,  a  man  could 
buy  valuable  skins  on  the  wharves  and  in  the  markets  of  New 
York,  which  could  be  sold  with  some  profit  to  New  York  furriers. 
But  the  grand  object  was  to  establish  a  connection  with  a  house 
in  London,  where  furs  brought  four  or  five  times  their  value  in 
America.  In  short,  John  Jacob  Astor  determined  to  lose  no 
time  after  reaching  New  York,  in  trying  his  hand  at  this  profit- 
able traffic. 

The  ice  broke  up  in  March.  The  ship  made  its  way  to  Balti- 
more, and  the  two  friends  travelled  together  to  New  York.  The 
detention  in  the  ice  and  the  journey  to  New  York  almost  ex- 
hausted Astor's  purse.  He  arrived  in  this  city,  where  now  his 
estate  is  valued  at  forty  millions,  with  little  more  than  his  seven 
German  flutes,  and  a  long  German  head  full  of  available  knowl- 
edge and  quiet  determination.  He  went  straight  to  the  humble 
abode  of  his  brother  Henry,  a  kindly,  generous,  jovial  soul,  who 
gave  him  a  truly  fraternal  welcome,  and  received  with  hospitable 
warmth  the  companion  of  his  voyage. 

Henry  Astor's  prosperity  had  been  temporarily  checked  by  the 
evacuation  of  New  York,  which  had  occurred  five  months  before, 
and  which  had  deprived  the  tradesmen  of  the  city  of  their  best 
customers.  It  was  not  only  the  British  army  that  had  left  the 
city  in  November,  1783,  but  a  host  of  British  officials  and  old 
Tory  families  as  well ;  while  the  new-comers  were  Whigs,  whom 
seven  years  of  war  had  impoverished,  and  young  adventurers 
who  had  still  their  career  to  make.  During  the  Revolution, 
Henry  Astor  had  speculated  occasionally  in  cattle  captured  from 
the  farmers  of  Westchester,  which  were  sold  at  auction  at  Bull's 
Head,  and  he  had  advanced  from  a  wheelbarrow  to  the  ownership 
of  a  horse.  An  advertisement  informs  us  that,  about  the  time 
of  his  brother's  arrival,  this  horse  was  stolen,  with  saddle  and 
bridle,  and  that  the  owner  offered  three  guineas  reward  for  the 
recovery  of  the  property  ;  but  that  "  for  the  thief,  horse,  saddle, 
and  bridle,  ten  guineas  would  be  paid."  A  mouth  after,  we  find 
him  becoming  a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  and  soon  he  began 
to  share  in  the  returning  prosperity  of  the  city. 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB.  443 

In  the  mean  time,  however,  he  could  do  little  for  his  new-found 
brother.  During  the  first  evening  of  his  brother's  stay  at  his 
house  the  question  was  discussed,  What  should  the  young  man  do 
in  his  new  country  ?  The  charms  of  the  fur  business  were  duly 
portrayed  by  the  friend  of  the  youth,  who  also  expressed  his 
preference  for  it.  It  was  agreed,  at  length,  that  the  best  plan 
would  be  for  the  young  man  to  seek  employment  with  some  one 
already  in  the  business,  in  order  to  learn  the  modes  of  proceed- 
ing, as  well  as  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  country.  The 
young  stranger  anxiously  inquired  how  much  premium  would  be 
demanded  by  a  furrier  for  teaching  the  business  to  a  novice,  and 
he  was  at  once  astonished  and  relieved  to  learn  that  no  such  thing 
was  known  in  America,  and  that  he  might  expect  his  board  and 
small  wages  even  from  the  start.  So,  the  next  day,  the  brothers 
and  their  friend  proceeded  together  to  the  store  of  Robert 
Bowne,  an  aged  and  benevolent  Quaker,  long  established  in  the 
business  of  buying,  curing,  and  exporting  peltries.  It  chanced 
that  he  needed  a  hand.  Pleased  with  the  appearance  and  de- 
meanor of  the  young  man,  he  employed  him  (as  tradition  reports) 
at  two  dollars  a  week  and  his  board.  Astor  took  up  his  abode  in 
his  master's  house,  and  was  soon  at  work.  "We  can  tell  the 
reader  with  certainty  what  was  the  nature  of  the  youth's  first 
day's  work  in  his  adopted  country ;  for,  in  his  old  age,  he  was 
often  heard  to  say  that  the  first  thing  he  did  for  Mr.  Bowne  was 
to  beat  furs ;  which,  indeed,  was  his  principal  employment  during 
ihe  whole  of  the  following  summer,  —  furs  requiring  to  be  fre- 
quently beaten  to  keep  the  moths  from  destroying  them. 

Perhaps  among  our  readers  there  are  some  who  have  formed 
the  resolution  to  get  on  in  the  world  and  become  rich.  We  ad- 
vise such  to  observe  how  young  Astor  proceeded.  We  are  far 
from  desiring  to  hold  up  this  able  man  as  a  model  for  the  young ; 
yet  it  must  be  owned  that  in  the  art  of  prospering  in  business  he  has 
had  no  equal  in  America ;  and  in  that  his  example  may  be  useful. 
Now,  observe  the  secret.  It  was  not  plodding  merely,  though  no 
man  ever  labored  more  steadily  than  he.  Mr.  Bowne,  discover- 
ing what  a  prize  he  had,  raised  his  wages  at  the  end  of  the  first 
month.  Nor  was  it  merely  his  strict  observance  of  the  rules  of 


444  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR. 

temperance  and  morality,  though  that  is  essential  to  any  wcrtLy 
success.  The  great  secret  of  Astor's  early,  rapid,  and  uniform 
success  in  business  appeal's  to  have  beeq,  that  he  acted  always 
upon  the  maxim  that  KNOWLEDGE  is  POWER  !  He  labored  un- 
ceasingly at  Mr.  Bowne's  to  learn  the  business.  He  put  all  his 
«joul  into  the  work  of  getting  a  knowledge  of  furs,  fur-bearing 
animals,  fur-dealers,  fur-markets,  fur-gathering  Indians,  fur- 
abounding  countries.  In  those  days  a  considerable  number  of 
bear  skins  and  beaver  skins  were  brought  directly  to  Bowne's 
store  by  the  Indians  and  countrymen  of  the  vicinity,  who  had 
shot  or  trapped  the  animals.  These  men  Astor  questioned  ;  and 
neglected  no  other  opportunity  of  procuring  the  information  he 
desired.  It  used  to  be  observed  of  Astor  that  he  absolutely  loved 
a  fine  skin.  In  later  days  he  would  have  a  superior  fur  hung  up 
in  his  counting-room  as  other  men  hang  pictures  ;  and  this,  ap- 
parently, for  the  mere  pleasure  of  feeling,  showing,  and  admiring 
'A.  He  would  pass  his  hand  fondly  over  it,  extolling  its  charms 
with  an  approach  to  enthusiasm  ;  not,  however,  forgetting  to 
mention  that  in  Canton  it  would  bring  him  in  five  hundred  dol- 
lars. So  heartily  did  he  throw  himself  into  his  business. 

Growing  rapidly  in  the  confidence  of  his  employer,  he  was 
soon  intrusted  with  more  important  duties  than  the  beating  of 
furs.  He  was  employed  in  buying  them  from  the  Indians  and 
hunters  who  brought  them  to  the  city.  Soon,  too,  he  took  the 
place  of  his  employer  in  the  annual  journey  to  Montreal,  then  the 
chief  fur  mart  of  the  country.  With  a  pack  upon  his  back,  he 
struck  into  the  wilderness  above  Albany,  and  walked  to  Lake 
George,  which  he  ascended  in  a  canoe,  and  having  thus  reached 
Champlain  he  embarked  again,  and  sailed  to  the  head  of  that 
lake.  Returning  with  his  furs,  he  employed  the  Indians  in  trans- 
porting them  to  the  Hudson,  and  brought  them  to  the  city  in  a 
sloop.  He  was  formed  by  nature  for  a  life  like  this.  His  frame 
was  capable  of  great  endurance,  and  he  had  the  knack  of  getting 
the  best  of  a  bargain.  The  Indian  is  a  great  bargainer.  The 
time  was  gone  by  when  a  nail  or  a  little  red  paint  wouid  induce 
him  to  part  with  valuable  peltries.  It  required  skill  and  address 
on  the  part  of  the  trader,  both  in  selecting  the  articles  likely  to 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB.  445 

tempt  the  vanity  or  the  cupidity  of  the  red  man,  and  in  conduct- 
ing the  tedious  negotiation  which  usually  preceded  an  exchange 
of  commodities.  It  was  in  this  kind  of  traffic,  doubtless,  that  our 
young  German  acquired  that  unconquerable  propensity  for  mak- 
ing hard  bargains,  which  was  so  marked  a  feature  in  his  character 
as  a  merchant.  He  could  never  rise  superior  to  ihis  early- 
acquired  habit.  He  never  knew  what  it  was  to  exchange  places 
with  the  opposite  party,  and  survey  a  transaction  from  his  point 
of  view.  He  exulted  not  in  compensating  liberal  service  liber- 
ally. In  all  transactions  he  kept  in  view  the  simple  object  of 
giving  the  least  and  getting  the  most. 

Meanwhile  his  brother  Henry  was  flourishing.  He  married 
the  beautiful  daughter  of  a  brother  butcher,  and  the  young  wife, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  disdained  not  to  assist  her 
husband  even  in  the  slaughter-house  as  well  as  in  the  market- 
place. Colonel  Devoe,  in  his  well-known  Market  Book,  informs 
us  that  Henry  Astor  was  exceedingly  proud  of  his  pretty  wife, 
often  bringing  her  home  presents  of  gay  dresses  and  ribbons,  and 
speaking  of  her  as  "  de  pink  of  de  Bowery."  The  butchers  of 
that  day  complained  bitterly  of  him,  because  he  used  to  ride  out 
of  town  fifteen  or  twenty  miles,  and  buy  up  the  droves  of  cattle 
coming  to  the  city,  which  he  would  drive  in  and  sell  at  an  ad- 
vanced price  to  the  less  enterprising  butchers.  He  gained  a  for- 
tune by  his  business,  which  would  have  been  thought  immense, 
if  the  colossal  wealth  of  his  brother  had  not  reduced  all  other  es- 
tates to  comparative  insignificance.  It  was  he  who  bought,  for 
eight  hundred  dollars,  the  acre  of  ground  on  part  of  which  the 
old  Bowery  Theatre  now  stands. 

John  Jacob  Astor  remained  not  long  in  the  employment  of 
Robert  Bowne.  It  was  a  peculiarity  of  the  business  of  a  furrier 
at  that  day,  that,  while  it  admitted  of  unlimited  extension,  it  could 
be  begun  on  the  smallest  scale,  with  a  very  insignificant  capital. 
Every  farmer's  boy  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York  had  occasionally 
a  skin  to  sell,  and  bears  abounded  in  the  Catskill  Mountains. 
Indeed  the  time  had  not  long  gone  by  when  beaver  skins  formed 
part  of  the  currency  of  the  city.  All  Northern  and  Western  New 
York  was  still  a  fur-yielding  country.  Even  Long  Island  fur 


446  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

nished  its  quota.  So  that,  while  the  fur  business  was  one  that 
rewarded  the  enterprise  of  great  and  wealthy  companies,  employ- 
ing thousands  of  men  and  fleets  of  ships,  it  afforded  an  opening  to 
young  Astor,  who,  with  the  assistance  of  his  brother,  could  com- 
mand a  capital  of  only  a  very  few  hundred  dollars.  In  a  little 
shop  in  Water  Street,  with  a  back-room,  a  yai-d,  and  a  shed,  the 
shop  furnished  with  only  a  few  toys  and  trinkets,  Astor  began 
business  about  the  year  1786.  He  had  then,  as  always,  the  most 
unbounded  confidence  in  his  own  abilities.  He  used  to  relate 
that,  at  this  time,  a  new  row  of  houses  in  Broadway  was  the  talk 
of  the  city  from  their  magnitude  and  beauty.  Passing  them 
one  day,  he  said  to  himself :  "  I  '11  build  some  time  or  other  a 
greater  house  than  any  of  these,  and  in  this  very  street."  He 
used  also  to  say,  in  his  old  age :  "  The  first  hundred  thousand 
dollars  —  that  was  hard  to  get ;  but  afterward  it  was  easy  to 
make  more." 

Having  set  up  for  himself,  he  worked  with  the  quiet,  indomi- 
table ardor  of  a  German  who  sees  clearly  his  way  open  before 
him.  At  first  he  did  everything  for  himself.  He  bought,  cured, 
beat,  packed,  and  sold  his  skins.  From  dawn  till  dark,  he  assid- 
uously labored.  At  the  proper  seasons  of  the  year,  with  his  pack 
on  his  back,  he  made  short  excursions  into  the  country,  collecting 
skins  from  house  to  house,  gradually  extending  the  area  of  his 
travels,  till  he  knew  the  State  of  New  York  as  no  man  of  his 
day  knew  it.  He  used  to  boast,  late  in  life,  when  the  Erie  Canal 
had  called  into  being  a  line  of  thriving  towns  through  the  centre 
of  the  State,  that  he  had  himself,  in  his  numberless  tramps,  des- 
ignated the  sites  of  those  towns,  and  predicted  that  one  day  they 
would  be  the  centres  of  business  and  population.  Particularly  he 
noted  the  spots  where  Rochester  aud  Buffalo  now  stand,  one  hav- 
ing a  harbor  on  Lake  Erie,  the  other  upon  Lake  Ontario.  Those 
places,  he  predicted,  would  one  day  be  large  and  prosperous  cities, 
and  that  prediction  he  made  when  there  was  scarcely  a  settle- 
ment at  Buffalo,  and  only  wigwams  on  the  site  of  Rochester.  At 
this  time  he  had  a  partner  who  usually  remained  in  the  city,  while 
the  agile  and  enduring  Astor  traversed  the  wilderness. 

It  was  his  first  voyage  to  London  that  established  hh  businesi 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR.  447 

on  a  solid  foundation.  As  soon  as  he  had  accumulated  a  few 
bales  of  the  skins  suited  to  the  European  market,  he  took  passage 
in  the  steerage  of  a  ship  and  conveyed  them  to  London.  He  sold 
them  to  great  advantage,  and  established  connections  with  houses 
to  which  he  could  in  future  consign  his  furs,  and  from  whici  he 
could  procure  the  articles  best  adapted  to  the  taste  of  Indians  and 
hunters.  But  his  most  important  operation  in  London  was  to 
make  an  arrangement  with  the  firm  of  Astor  &  Broadwood,  by 
which  he  became  the  New  York  agent  for  the  sale  of  their 
pianos,  flutes,  and  violins.  He  is  believed  to  have  been  the  first 
man  in  New  York  who  kept  constantly  for  sale  a  supply  of  musi- 
cal merchandise,  of  which  the  annual  sale  in  New  York  is  now 
reckoned  at  five  millions  of  dollars.  On  his  return  to  New  York, 
he  opened  a  little  dingy  store  in  Gold  Street,  between  Fulton  and 
Ann,  and  swung  out  a  sign  to  the  breeze  bearing  the  words  :  — 

FURS   AND   PIANOS. 

There  were  until  recently  aged  men  among  us  who  remem- 
bered seeing  this  sign  over  the  store  of  Mr.  Astor,  and  in  some 
old  houses  are  preserved  ancient  pianos,  bearing  the  name  of  J. 
J.  Astor,  as  the  seller  thereof.  Violins  and  flutes,  also,  are  occa- 
sionally met  with  that  have  his  name  upon  them.  In  1790,  seven 
years  after  his  arrival  in  this  city,  he  was  of  sufficient  importance 
to  appear  in  the  Directory  thus  :  — 

ASTOR,  J.  J.,  Fur  Trader,  40  Little  Dock  Street  (now  part  of 
Water  Street). 

In  this  time  of  his  dawning  prosperity,  while  still  inhabiting 
the  small  house  of  which  his  store  was  a  part,  he  married.  Sa- 
rah Todd  was  the  maiden  name  of  his  wife.  As  a  connection  of 
the  family  of  Brevoort,  she  was  then  considered  to  be  somewhat 
superior  to  her  husband  in  point  of  social  rank,  and  she  brought 
him  a  fortune,  by  no  means  despised  by  him  at  that  time,  of  three 
hundred  dollars.  She  threw  herself  heartily  into  her  husband's 
growing  business,  laboring  with  her  own  hands,  buying,  sorting, 
and  beating  the  furs.  He  used  to  say  that  sh«  was  as  good  a 
judge  of  the  value  of  peltries  as  himself,  and  that  her  opinion  in 

matter  of  business  was  better  than  that  of  most  merchants. 


448  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR. 

Of  a  man  like  Astor  all  kinds  of  stories  will  be  told,  some 
true,  some  false ;  some  founded  upon  fact,  but  exaggerated  or 
distorted.  It  is  said,  for  example,  that  when  he  went  into  busi- 
ness for  himself,  he  used  to  go  around  among  the  shops  and 
markets  with  a  basket  of  toys  and  cakes  upon  his  arm,  exchang- 
ing those  articles  for  furs.  There  are  certainly  old  people  among 
us  who  remember  hearing  their  parents  say  that  they  saw  him 
doing  this.  The  story  is  not  improbable,  for  he  had  no  false 
pride,  and  was  ready  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything  that  was 
honest. 

Mr.  Astor  still  traversed  the  wilderness.  The  father  of  the 
late  lamented  General  Wadsworth  used  to  relate  that  he  met  him 
once  in  the  woods  of  Western  New  York  in  a  sad  plight.  His 
wagon  had  broken  down  in  the  midst  of  a  swamp.  In  the  melee 
all  his  gold  had  rolled  away  through  the  bottom  of  the  vehicle, 
and  was  irrecoverably  lost ;  and  Astor  was  seen  emerging  from 
the  swamp  covered  with  mud  and  carrying  on  his  shoulder  an 
axe,  —  the  sole  relic  of  his  property.  When  at  length,  in  1794, 
Jay's  treaty  caused  the  evacuation  of  the  western  forts  held  by 
the  British,  his  business  so  rapidly  extended  that  he  was  enabled 
to  devolve  these  laborious  journeys  upon  others,  while  he  remained 
in  New  York,  controlling  a  business  that  now  embraced  the  re- 
gion of  the  great  lakes,  and  gave  employment  to  a  host  of  trap- 
pers, collectors,  and  agents.  He  was  soon  in  a  position  to  purchase 
a  ship,  in  which  his  furs  were  carried  to  London,  and  in  which 
he  occasionally  made  a  voyage  himself.  He  was  still  observed 
to  be  most  assiduous  in  the  pursuit  of  commercial  knowledge. 
He  was  never  weary  of  inquiring  about  the  markets  of  Europe 
and  Asia,  the  ruling  prices  and  commodities  of  each,  the  stand- 
ing of  commercial  houses,  and  all  other  particulars  that  could  be 
of  use.  Hence  his  directions  to  his  captains  and  agents  were 
always  explicit  and  minute,  and  if  any  enterprise  failed  to  be 
profitable  it  could  generally  be  distinctly  seen  that  it  was  because 
his  orders  had  not  been  obeyed.  In  London,  he  became  most 
intimately  conversant  with  the  operations  of  the  East-India 
Company  and  with  the  China  trade.  China  being  the  best 
market  in  the  world  for  furs,  and  furnishing  commodities  which 


JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR.  449 

in  America  had  become  necessaries  of  life,  he  was  quick  to  per- 
ceive what  au  advantage  he  would  have  over  other  merchants 
by  sending  his  ships  to  Canton  provided  with  furs  as  well  as 
dollars.  It  was  about  the  year  1800  that  he  sent  his  first  ship 
to  Canton,  and  he  continued  to  carry  on  commerce  with  China 
for  twenty-seven  years,  sometimes  with  loss,  generally  with  profit, 
and  occasionally  with  splendid  and  bewildering  success. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  the  year  1800,  when  he  was  worth 
a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars,  and  had  been  in  business  fifteen 
years,  that  he  indulged  himself  in  the  comfort  of  living  in  a  house 
apart  from  his  business.  In  1794  he  appears  in  the  Directory 
as  "  Furrier,  149  Broadway."  From  1796  to  1799  he  figures  as 
"Fur  Merchant,  149  Broadway."  In  1800  he  had  a  storehouse 
at  141  Greenwich  Street,  and  lived  at  223  Broadway,  on  the  site 
of  the  present  Astor  House.  In  1801,  his  store  was  ut  71 
Liberty  Street,  and  he  had  removed  his  residence  back  to  14b 
Broadway.  The  year  following  we  find  him  again  at  223  Broad- 
way, where  he  continued  to  reside  for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 
His  house  was  such  as  a  fifth-rate  merchant  would  now  consider 
much  beneath  his  dignity.  Mr.  Astor,  indeed,  had  a  singular 
dislike  to  living  in  a  large  house.  He  had  neither  expensive 
tastes  nor  wasteful  vices.  His  luxuries  were  a  pipe,  a  glass  of 
*  beer,  a  game  of  draughts,  a  ride  on  horseback,  and  the  theatre. 
Of  the  theatre  he  was  particularly  fond.  He  seldom  missed  a 
good  performance  in  the  palmy  days  of  the  "  Old  Park." 

It  was  his  instinctive  abhorrence  of  ostentation  and  waste  that 
enabled  him,  as  it  were,  to  glide  into  the  millionnaire  without 
oeing  observed  by  his  neighbors.  He  used  to  relate,  with  a 
chuckle,  that  he  was  worth  a  million  before  any  one  suspected  it. 
A  dandy  bank-clerk,  one  day,  having  expressed  a  doubt  as  to 
the  sufficiency  of  his  name  to  a  piece  of  mercantile  paper,  Astor 
asked  him  how  much  he  thought  he  was  worth.  The  clerk 
mentioned  a  sum  ludicrously  less  than  the  real  amount.  Astor 
then  asked  him  how  much  he  supposed  this  and  that  leading 
merchant,  whom  he  named,  was  worth.  The  young  man  en- 
dowed them  with  generous  sum-totals  proportioned  to  their  style 
gf  living.  "  Well,"  said  Astor,  "  I  am  worth  more  than  any  of 

oc 


450  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOK. 

them.  I  will  not  say  how  much  I  am  worth,  but  I  am  worth 
more  than  any  sum  you  have  mentioned."  "Then,"  said  the 
clerk,  "  you  are  even  a  greater  fool  than  I  took  you  for,  to  work 
as  hard  as  you  do."  The  old  man  would  tell  this  story  with 
great  glee,  for  he  always  liked  a  joke. 

In  the  course  of  his  long  life  he  had  frequent  opportunities  of 
observing  what  becomes  of  those  gay  merchants  who  live  up  to 
the  incomes  of  prosperous  years,  regardless  of  the  inevitable  time 
of  commercial  collapse.  It  must  be  owned  that  he  held  in  utter 
contempt  the  dashing  style  of  living  and  doing  business  which 
has  too  often  prevailed  in  New  York  ;  and  he  was  very  slow  to 
give  credit  to  a  house  that  carried  sail  out  of  proportion  to  its 
ballast.  Nevertheless,  he  was  himself  no  plodder  when  plodding 
had  ceased  to  be  necessary.  At  the  time  when  his  affairs  were 
on  their  greatest  scale,  he  would  leave  his  office  at  two  in  the 
afternoon,  go  home  to  an  early  dinner,  then  mount  his  horse  and 
ride  about  the  Island  till  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  theatre.  He 
had  a  strong  aversion  to  illegitimate  speculation,  and  particularly 
to  gambling  in  stocks.  The  note-shaving  and  stock-jobbing  op- 
erations of  the  Rothschilds  he  despised.  It  was  his  pride  and 
boast  that  he  gained  his  own  fortune  by  legitimate  commerce, 
and  by  the  legitimate  investment  of  his  profits.  Having  an  un- 
bounded faith  in  the  destiny  of  the  United  States,  and  in  the 
future  commercial  supremacy  of  New  York,  it  was  his  custom, 
from  about  the  year  1800,  to  invest  his  gains  in  the  purchase  of 
lots  and  lands  on  Manhattan  Island. 

We  have  all  heard  much  of  the  closeness,  or  rather  the  mean- 
ness, of  this  remarkable  man.  Truth  compels  us  to  admit,  as  we 
have  before  intimated,  that  he  was  not  generous,  except  to  his 
own  kindred.  His  liberality  began  and  ended  in  his  own  family. 
Very  seldom  during  his  lifetime  did  he  willingly  do  a  generous 
act  outside  of  the  little  circle  of  his  relations  and  descendants. 
To  get  all  that  he  could,  and  to  keep  nearly  all  that  he  got,  — 
those  were  the  laws  of  his  being.  He  had  a  vast  genius  for 
making  money,  and  that  was  all  that  he  had. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  know  that  sometimes  his  extreme  closeness 
defeated  its  own  object.  He  once  lost  seventy  thousand  dollars 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR.  451 

by  committing  a  piece  of  petty  injustice  toward  his  best  captain. 
This  gallant  sailor,  being  notified  by  an  insurance  office  of  the 
necessity  of  having  a  chronometer  on  board  his  ship,  spoke  to  Mr. 
Astor  on  the  subject,  who  advised  the  captain  to  buy  one. 

"  But,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  have  no  five  hundred  dollars  to 
spare  for  such  a  purpose  ;  the  chronometer  should  belong  to  the 
ship." 

"Well,"  said  the  merchant,  "you  need  not  pay  for  it  now; 
pay  for  it  at  your  convenience." 

The  captain  still  objecting,  Astor,  after  a  prolonged  higgling, 
authorized  him  to  buy  a  chronometer,  and  charge  it  to  the  ship's 
account ;  which  was  done.  Sailing-day  was  at  hand.  The  ship 
was  hauled  into  the  stream.  The  captain,  as  is  the  custom, 
handed  in  his  account.  Astor,  subjecting  it  to  his  usual  close 
scrutiny,  observed  the  novel  item  of  five  hundred  dollars  for  the 
chronometer.  He  objected,  averring  that  it  was  understood  be- 
tween them  that  the  captain  was  to  pay  for  the  instrument.  The 
worthy  sailor  recalled  the  conversation,  and  firmly  held  to  his  rec- 
ollection of  it.  Astor  insisting  on  his  own  view  of  the  matter, 
the  captain  was  so  profoundly  disgusted  that,  important  as  the 
command  of  the  ship  was  to  him,  he  resigned  his  post.  Another 
captain  was  soon  found,  and  the  ship  sailed  for  China.  Another 
house,  which  was  then  engaged  in  the  China  trade,  knowing  the 
worth  of  this  "  king  of  captains,"  as  Astor  himself  used  to  style 
him,  bought  him  a  ship  and  despatched  him  to  Canton  two 
months  after  the  departure  of  Astor's  vessel.  Our  captain,  put 
upon  his  mettle,  employed  all  his  skill  to  accelerate  the  speed  of 
his  ship,  and  had  such  success,  that  he  reached  New  York  with  a 
full  cargo  of  tea  just  seven  days  after  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Astor's 
ship.  Astor,  not  expecting  another  ship  for  months,  and  there- 
fore sure  of  monopolizing  the  market,  had  not  yet  broken  bulk, 
nor  even  taken  off  the  hatchways.  Our  captain  arrived  on  a 
Saturday.  Advertisements  and  handbills  were  immediately  is- 
sued, and  on  the  Wednesday  morning  following,  as  the  custom 
then  was,  the  auction  sale  of  the  tea  began  on  the  wharf,  —  two 
barrels  of  punch  contributing  to  the  eclat  and  hilarity  of  the  oc- 
casion. The  cargo  was  sold  to  good  advantage,  and  the  market 


452  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR. 

was  glutted.  Astor  lost  in  consequence  the  entire  profits  of  the 
voyage,  not  less  than  the  sum  named  above.  Meeting  the  cap- 
tain some  time  after  in  Broadway,  he  said,  — 

"  I  had  better  have  paid  for  that  chronometer  of  yours." 

Without  ever  acknowledging  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong, 
he  was  glad  enough  to  engage  the  captain's  future  services. 
This  anecdote  we  received  from  the  worthy  captain's  own  lips. 

On  one  occasion  the  same  officer  had  the  opportunity  of  ren- 
dering the  great  merchant  a  most  signal  service.  The  agent  of 
Mr.  Astor  in  China  suddenly  died  at  a  time  when  the  property 
in  his  charge  amounted  to  about  seven  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
Our  captain,  who  was  not  then  in  Astor's  employ,  was  perfectly 
aware  that  if  this  immense  property  fell  into  official  hands,  as  the 
law  required,  not  one  dollar  of  it  would  ever  again  find  its  way 
to  the  coffers  of  its  proprietor.  By  a  series  of  bold,  prompt,  and 
skilful  measures,  he  rescued  it  from  the  official  maw,  and  made  it 
yield  a  profit  to  the  owner.  Mr.  Astor  acknowledged  the  ser- 
vice. He  acknowledged  it  with  emphasis  and  a  great  show  of 
gratitude.  He  said  many  times :  — 

"  If  you  had  not  done  just  as  you  did,  I  should  never  have 
seen  one  dollar  of  my  money ;  no,  not  one  dollar  of  it." 

But  he  not  only  did  not  compensate  him  for  his  services,  but 
he  did  not  even  reimburse  the  small  sum  of  money  which  the 
captain  had  expended  in  performing  those  services.  Astor  was 
then  worth  ten  millions,  and  the  captain  had  his  hundred  dollars 
a  month  and  a  family  of  young  children. 

Thus  the  great  merchant  recompensed  great  services.  He 
was  not  more  just  in  rewarding  small  ones.  On  one  occasion  a 
ship  of  his  arrived  from  China,  which  he  found  necessary  to  de- 
spatch at  once  to  Amsterdam,  the  market  in  New  York  being 
depressed  by  an  over-supply  of  China  merchandise.  But  on 
board  this  ship,  under  a  mountain  of  tea-chests,  the  owner  had 
two  pipes  of  precious  Madeira  wine,  which  had  been  sent  on  a 
voyage  for  the  improvement  of  its  constitution. 

"  Can  you  get  out  that  wine,"  asked  the  owner,  "  without  dis 
charging  the  tea  ?  " 

The  captain  thought  he  could. 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB.  '  453 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Astor,  "you  get  it  out,  and  111  give  you 
a  demijohn  of  it.  You  '11  say  it 's  the  best  wine  you  ever  tasted." 

It  required  the  labor  of  the  whole  ship's  crew  for  two  days  to 
get  out  those  two  pipes  of  wine.  They  were  sent  to  the  house 
of  Mr.  Astor.  A  year  passed.  The  captain  had  been  to  Am- 
sterdam and  back,  but  he  had  received  no  tidings  of  his  demijohn 
of  Madeira.  One  day,  when  Mr.  Astor  was  on  board  the  ship, 
the  captain  ventured  to  remind  the  great  man,  in  a  jocular  man- 
ner, that  he  had  not  received  the  wine. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Astor,  "  don't  you  know  the  reason  ?  It  is  n't 
fine  yet.  Wait  till  it  is  fine,  and  you  '11  say  you  never  tasted 
such  Madeira."  The  captain  never  heard  of  that  wine  again. 

These  traits  show  the  moral  weakness  of  the  man.  It  is  only 
when  we  regard  his  mercantile  exploits  that  we  can  admire  him. 
He  was,  unquestionably,  one  of  the  ablest,  boldest,  and  most  suc- 
cessful operators  that  ever  lived.  He  seldom  made  a  mistake 
in  the  conduct  of  business.  Having  formed  his  plan,  he  carried 
it  out  with  a  nerve  and  steadiness,  with  such  a  firm  and  easy 
grasp  of  all  the  details,  that  he  seemed  rather  to  be  playing  an 
interesting  game  than  transacting  business.  "He  could  com 
mand  an  army  of  five  hundred  thousand  men ! "  exclaimed  one 
of  his  admirers.  That  was  an  erroneous  remark.  He  could 
have  commanded  an  army  of  five  hundred  thousand  tea-chests, 
with  a  heavy  auxiliary  force  of  otter  skins  and  beaver  skins. 
But  a  commander  of  men  must  be  superior  morally  as  well  as 
intellectually.  He  must  be  able  to  win  the  love  and  excite  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  followers.  Astor  would  have  made  a  splendid 
commissary-general  to  the  army  of  Xerxes,  but  he  could  no 
more  have  conquered  Greece  than  Xerxes  himself. 

The  reader  may  be  curious  to  know  by  what  means  Mr.  Astor 
became  so  preposterously  rich.  Few  successful  men  gain  a  single 
million  by  legitimate  commerce.  A  million  dollars  is  a  most 
enormous  sum  of  money.  It  requires  a  considerable  effort  of 
the  mind  to  conceive  it.  But  this  indomitable  little  German 
managed,  in  the  course  of  sixty  years,  to  accumulate  twenty  mil- 
lions ;  of  which,  probably,  not  more  than  two  millions  was  th* 
fruit  of  his  business  as  a  fur  trader  and  China  merchant. 


454  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR. 

At  that  day  the  fur  trade  was  exceedingly  profitable,  as  well 
as  of  vast  extent.  It  is  estimated  that  about  the  year  1800  the 
number  of  peltries  annually  furnished  to  commerce  was  about 
six  millions,  varying  in  value  from  fifteen  cents  to  five  hundred 
dollars.  When  every  respectable  man  in  Europe  and  America 
wore  a  beaver  skin  upon  his  head,  or  a  part  of  one,  and  when  a 
good  beaver  skin  could  be  bought  in  "Western  New  York  for  a 
dollar's  worth  of  trash,  and  could  be  sold  in  London  for  twenty- 
five  English  shillings,  and  when  those  twenty-five  English  shil- 
lings could  be  invested  in  English  cloth  and  cutlery,  and  sold 
in  New  York  for  forty  shillings,  it  may  be  imagined  that  fur- 
trading  was  a  very  good  business.  Mr.  Astor  had  his  share  of 
the  cream  of  it,  and  that  was  the  foundation  of  his  colossal  for- 
tune. Hence,  too,  the  tender  love  he  felt  for  a  fine  fur. 

In  the  next  place,  his  ventures  to  China  were  sometimes  ex- 
ceedingly fortunate.  A  fair  profit  on  a  voyage  to  China  at  that 
day  was  thirty  thousand  dollars.  Mr.  Astor  has  been  known  to 
gain  seventy  thousand,  and  to  have  his  money  in  his  pocket  with- 
in the  year.  He  was  remarkably  lucky  in  the  war  of  1812.  All 
his  ships  escaped  capture,  and  arriving  at  a  time  when  foreign 
commerce  was  almost  annihilated  and  tea  had  doubled  in  price, 
his  gains  were  so  immense,  that  the  million  or  more  lost  in  the 
Astorian  enterprise  gave  him  not  even  a  momentary  inconvenience. 

At  that  time,  too,  tea  merchants  of  large  capital  had  an  advan- 
tage which  they  do  not  now  enjoy.  A  writer  explains  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  business  was  done  in  those  days :  — 

"  A  house  that  could  raise  money  enough  thirty  years  ago  to 
send  $260,000  in  specie,  could  soon  have  an  uncommon  capital, 
and  this  was  the  working  of  the  old  system.  The  Griswolds 
owned  the  ship  Panama.  They  started  her  from  New  York  in 
the  month  of  May,  with  a  cargo  of  perhaps  $30,000  worth  of 
ginseng,  spelter,  lead,  iron,  etc.,  and  $170,000  in  Spanish  dollars, 
The  ship  goes  on  the  voyage,  reaches  Whampoa  in  safety  (a  few 
miles  below  Canton).  Her  supercargo  in  two  months  has  her 
loaded  with  tea,  some  china  ware,  a  great  deal  of  cassia  or  false 
cinnamon,  and  a  few  other  articles.  Suppose  the  cargo,  mainly 
tea,  costing  about  thirty-seven  cents  (at  that  time)  per  pound  on 
the  average. 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR  455 

"The  duty  was  enormous  in  those  daya  It  was  twice  the 
cost  of  the  tea,  at  least:  so  that  a  tea  cargo  of  $200,000,  when 
it  had  paid  duty  of  seventy-five  cents  per  pound  (which  would 
be  $400,000),  amounted  to  $600,000.  The  profit  was  at  least 
fifty  per  cent  on  the  original  cost,  or  $  100,000,  and  would  make 
the  cargo  worth  $  700,000. 

"  The  cargo  of  teas  would  be  sold  almost  on  arrival  (say  eleven 
or  twelve  months  after  the  ship  left  New  York  in  May)  to  whole- 
sale grocers,  for  their  notes  at  four  and  six  months,  —  say  for 
$  700,000.  In  those  years  there  was  credit  given  by  the  United 
States  of  nine,  twelve,  and  eighteen  months  !  So  that  the  East- 
India  or  Canton  merchant,  after  his  ship  had  made  one  voyage 
had  the  use  of  government  capital  to  the  extent  of  $400,000,  on 
the  ordinary  cargo  of  a  China  ship. 

"  No  sooner  had  the  ship  Panama  arrived  (or  any  of  the  regu 
lar  East-Indiamen),  than  her  cargo  would  be  exchanged  for 
grocers'  notes  for  $  700,000.  These  notes  could  be  turned  into 
specie  very  easily,  and  the  owner  had  only  to  pay  his  bonds  for 
$  400,000  duty,  at  nine,  twelve,  and  eighteen  months,  giving  him 
time  actually  to  send  two  more  ships  with  $200,000  each  to 
Canton,  and  have  them  back  again  in  New  York  before  the  bonds 
on  the  first  cargo  were  due. 

"  John  Jacob  Astor  at  one  period  of  his  life  had  several  vessels 
operating  in  this  way.  They  would  go  to  the  Pacific  (Oregon) 
and  carry  from  thence  furs  to  Canton.  These  would  be  sold  at 
large  profits.  Then  the  cargoes  of  tea  to  New  York  would  pay 
enormous  duties,  which  Astor  did  not  have  to  pay  to  the  United 
States  for  a  year  and  a  half.  His  tea  cargoes  would  be  sold  for 
good  four  and  six  months  paper,  or  perhaps  cash ;  so  that  for 
eighteen  or  twenty  years  John  Jacob  Astor  had  what  was  actual- 
ly a  free-of-interest  loan  from  Government  of  over  Jive  millions 
of  dollars. "  * 

But  it  was  neither  his  tea  trade  nor  his  fur  trade  that  gave 
Astor  twenty  millions  of  dollars.  It  was  his  sagacity  in  investing 
his  profits  that  made  him  the  richest  man  in  America.  When 
he  first  trod  the  streets  of  New  York,  in  1784,  the  city  was  a 

*  Old  Merchants  of  New  York.    First  Seriee. 


456  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR. 

snug,  leafy  place  of  twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants,  situated  at 
the  extremity  of  the  Island,  mostly  below  Cortlandt  Street.  In 
1800,  when  he  began  to  have  money  to  invest,  the  city  had  more 
than  doubled  in  population,  and  had  advanced  nearly  a  mile  up 
the  Island.  Now,  Astor  was  a  shrewd  calculator  of  the  future. 
No  reason  appeared  why  New  York  should  not  repeat  this  doub- 
ling game  and  this  mile  of  extension  every  fifteen  years.  He 
acted  upon  the  supposition,  and  fell  into  the  habit  of  buying 
lands  and  lots  just  beyond  the  verge  of  the  city.  One  little  anec- 
dote will  show  the  wisdom  of  this  proceeding.  He  sold  a  lot  in 
the  vicinity  of  Wall  Street,  about  the  year  1810,  for  eight  thou- 
sand dollars,  which  was  supposed  to  be  somewhat  under  its  value. 
The  purchaser,  after  the  papers  were  signed,  seemed  disposed  to 
chuckle  over  his  bargain. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Astor,"  said  he,  "  in  a  few  years  this  lot  will  be 
worth  twelve  thousand  dollars." 

"  Very  true,"  replied  Astor ;  "  but  now  you  shall  see  what  I 
will  do  with  this  money.  With  eight  thousand  dollars  I  buy  eighty 
lots  above  Canal  Street.  By  the  time  your  lot  is  worth  twelve 
thousand  dollars,  my  eighty  lots  will  be  worth  eighty  thousand 
dollars  "  ;  which  proved  to  be  the  fact. 

His  purchase  of  the  Richmond  Hill  estate  of  Aaron  Burr  was 
a  case  in  point.  He  bought  the  hundred  and  sixty  acres  at  a 
thousand  dollars  an  acre,  and  in  twelve  years  the  land  was  worth 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  lot.  In  the  course  of  time  the  Island 
was  dotted  all  over  with  Astor  lands,  —  to  such  an  extent  that 
the  whole  income  of  his  estate  for  fifty  years  could  be  invested  in 
new  houses  without  buying  any  more  land. 

His  land  speculations,  however,  were  by  no  means  confined  to 
the  little  Island  of  Manhattan.  Aged  readers  cannot  have  for- 
gotten the  most  celebrated  of  all  his  operations  of  this  kind,  by 
which  he  acquired  a  legal  title  to  one  third  of  the  county  of  Put- 
nam in  this  State.  This  enormous  tract  was  part  of  the  estate  of 
Roger  Morris  and  Mary  his  wife,  who,  by  adhering  to  the  King 
of  Great  Britain  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  forfeited  their  landed 
property  in  the  State  of  New  York.  Having  been  duly  attainted 
as  public  enemies,  they  fled  to  England  at  the  close  of  the  war 


JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR.  457 

and  the  State  sold  their  lands,  in  small  parcels,  to  honest  Whig 
farmers.  The  estate  comprised  fifty-one  thousand  one  hundred 
and  two  acres,  upon  which  were  living,  in  1809,  more  than  seven 
hundred  families,  all  relying  upon  the  titles  which  the  State  of 
New  York  had  given.  Now  Mr.  Astor  stepped  forward  to  dis- 
turb the  security  of  this  community  of  farmers.  It  appeared,  and 
was  proved  beyond  doubt,  that  Roger  and  Mary  Morris  had 
only  possessed  a  life-interest  in  this  estate,  and  that,  therefore,  it 
was  only  that  life-interest  which  the  State  could  legally  confis- 
cate. The  moment  Roger  and  Mary  Morris  ceased  to  live,  the 
property  would  fall  to  their  heirs,  with  all  the  houses,  barns,  and 
other  improvements  thereon.  After  a  most  thorough  examina- 
tion of  the  papers  by  the  leading  counsel  of  that  day,  Mr.  Astor 
bought  the  rights  of  the  heirs,  in  1809,  for  twenty  thousand 
pounds  sterling.  At  that  time  Roger  Morris  was  no  more  ;  and 
Mary  his  wife  was  nearly  eighty,  and  extremely  infirm.  She 
lingered,  however,  for  some  years  ;  and  it  was  not  till  after  the 
peace  of  1815  that  the  claims  of  Mr.  Astor  were  pressed.  The 
consternation  of  the  farmers  and  the  astonishment  of  the  people 
generally,  when  at  length  the  great  millionnaire  stretched  out  his 
hand  to  pluck  this  large  ripe  pear,  may  be  imagined.  A  great 
clamor  arose  against  him.  It  cannot  be  denied,  however,  that  he 
acted  in  this  business  with  moderation  and  dignity.  Upon  the 
first  rumor  of  his  claim,  in  1814,  commissioners  were  appointed 
by  the  Legislature  to  inquire  into  it.  These  gentlemen,  finding 
the  claim  more  formidable  than  had  been  suspected,  asked  Mr. 
Astor  for  what  sum  he  would  compromise.  The  lands  were  val- 
ued at  six  hundred  and  sixty-seven  thousand  dollars,  but  Astor 
replied  that  he  would  sell  his  claim  for  three  hundred  thousand. 
The  offer  was  not  accepted,  and  the  affair  lingered.  In  1818, 
Mary  Morris  being  supposed  to  be  at  the  point  of  death,  and  the 
farmers  being  in  constant  dread  of  the  writs  of  ejectment  which 
her  death  would  bring  upon  them,  commissioners  were  again  ap- 
pointed by  the  Legislature  to  look  into  the  matter.  Again  Mr. 
Astor  was  asked  upon  what  terms  he  would  compromise.  He 
replied,  January  19,  1819:  — 

u  In  1813  or  1814  a  similar  proposition  was  made  to  mo  by  the 
20 


458  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

commissionei  s  then  appointed  by  the  Honorable  the  Legislature 
of  this  State,  when  I  offered  to  compromise  for  the  sum  of  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  which,  considering  the  value  of  the 
property  in  question,  was  thought  very  reasonable  ;  and,  at  the 
present  period,  when  the  life  of  Mrs.  Morris  is,  according  to  cal- 
culation, worth  little  or  nothing,  she  being  near  eighty-six  years 
of  age,  and  the  property  more  valuable  than  it  was  in  1813,  I  am 
still  willing  to  receive  the  amount  which  I  then  stated,  with  in- 
terest on  the  same,  payable  in  money  or  stock,  bearing  an  interest 
of — per  cent,  payable  quarterly.  The  stock  may  be  made  pay- 
able at  such  periods  as  the  Honorable  the  Legislature  may  deem 
proper.  This  offer  will,  I  trust,  be  considered  as  liberal,  and  aa 
a  proof  of  my  willingness  to  compromise  on  terms  which  are  rea- 
sonable, considering  the  value  of  the  property,  the  price  which  it 
cost  me,  and  the  inconvenience  of  having  so  long  laid  out  of  my 
money,  which,  if  employed  in  commercial  operations,  would  most 
likely  have  produced  better  profits." 

The  Legislature  were  not  yet  prepared  to  compromise.  It  was 
not  till  1827  that  a  test  case  was  selected  and  brought  to  trial 
before  a  jury.  The  most  eminent  counsel  were  employed  on  the 
part  of  the  State,  —  Daniel  Webster  and  Martin  Van  Buren 
among  them.  Astor's  cause  was  entrusted  to  Emmet,  Ogden, 
and  others.  We  believe  that  Aaron  Burr  was  consulted  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Astor,  though  he  did  not  appear  in  the  trial.  The 
efforts  of  the  array  of  counsel  employed  by  the  State  were 
exerted  in  vain  to  find  a  flaw  in  the  paper  upon  which  Astor's 
claim  mainly  rested.  Mr.  Webster's  speech  on  this  occasion  be- 
trays, even  to  the  unprofessional  reader,  both  that  he  had  no  case 
and  that  he  knew  he  had  not,  for  he  indulged  in  a  strain  of  re- 
mark that  could  only  have  been  designed  to  prejudice,  not  con- 
vince, the  jury. 

"  It  is  a  claim  for  lands,"  said  he,  "  not  in  their  wild  and  for- 
est state,  but  for  lands  the  intrinsic  value  of  which  is  mingled 
with  the  labor  expended  upon  them.  It  is  no  every-day  pur- 
chase, for  it  extends  over  towns  and  counties,  and  almost  takes  in 
a  degree  of  latitude.  It  is  a  stupendous  speculation.  The  indi- 
vidual who  now  claims  it  has  not  succeeded  to  it  by  inheritance ; 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB.  459 

he  has  not  attained  it,  as  he  did  that  vast  wealth  which  no  one 
less  envies  him  than  I  do,  by  fair  and  honest  exertions  in  com- 
mercial enterprise,  but  hy  speculation,  by  purchasing  the  forlorn 
hope  of  the  heirs  of  a  family  driven  from  their  country  by  a  bill 
of  attainder.  By  the  defendants,  on  the  contrary,  the  lands  in 
question  are  held  as  a  patrimony.  They  have  labored  for  years 
to  improve  them.  The  rugged  hills  had  grown  green  under  their 
cultivation  before  a  question  was  raised  as  to  the  integrity  of  their 
titles." 

A  line  of  remark  like  this  would  appeal  powerfully  to  a  jury 
of  farmers.  Its  effect,  however,  was  destroyed  by  the  simple  ob- 
servation of  one  of  the  opposing  counsel :  — 

"  Mr.  Astor  bought  this  property  confiding  in  the  justice  of  the 
State  of  New  York,  firmly  believing  that  in  the  litigation  of  his 
claim  his  rights  would  be  maintained." 

It  is  creditable  to  the  administration  of  justice  in  New  York, 
and  creditable  to  the  very  institution  of  trial  by  jury,  that  Mr. 
Astor's  most  unpopular  and  even  odious  cause  was  triumphant. 
Warned  by  this  verdict,  the  Legislature  consented  to  compromise 
on  Mr.  Astor's  own  terms.  The  requisite  amount  of  "Astor 
stock,"  as  it  was  called,  was  created.  Mr.  Astor  received  about 
half  a  million  of  dollars,  and  the  titles  of  the  lands  were  secured 
to  their  rightful  owners. 

The  crowning  glory  of  Mr.  Astor's  mercantile  career  was  that 
vast  and  brilliant  enterprise  which  Washington  Irving  has  com 
memorated  in  "Astoria."  No  other  single  individual  has  ever 
set  on  foot  a  scheme  so  extensive,  so  difficult,  and  so  costly  as 
this  ;  nor  has  any  such  enterprise  been  carried  out  with  such  sus- 
tained energy  and  perseverance.  To  establish  a  line  of  trading- 
posts  from  St.  Louis  to  the  Pacific,  a  four-months'  journey  in  a 
land  of  wilderness,  prairie,  mountain,  and  desert,  inhabited  by 
treacherous  or  hostile  savages  ;  to  found  a  permanent  settlement 
on  the  Pacific  coast  as  the  grand  depot  of  furs  and  supplies ;  to 
arrange  a  plan  by  which  the  furs  collected  should  be  regularly 
transported  to  China,  and  the  ships  return  to  New  York  laden 
with  tea  and  silks,  and  then  proceed  once  more  to  the  Pacific 
coast  to  repeat  the  circuit;  to  maintain  all  the  parts  of  this  scheme 


460  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

without  the  expectation  of  any  but  a  remote  profit,  sending  ship 
after  ship  before  any  certain  intelligence  of  the  first  ventures  had 
arrived,  —  this  was  an  enterprise  which  had  been  memorable  if  it 
had  been  undertaken  by  a  wealthy  corporation  or  a  powerful 
government,  instead  of  a  private  merchant,  unaided  by  any  re- 
sources but  his  own.  At  every  moment  in  the  conduct  of  this 
magnificent  attempt  Mr.  Astor  appears  the  great  man.  His  part- 
ing instructions  to  the  captain  of  his  first  ship  call  to  mind  those 
of  General  Washington  to  St.  Clair  on  a  similar  occasion.  "  All 
the  accidents  that  have  yet  happened,"  said  the  merchant,  "  arose 
from  too  much  confidence  in  the  Indians."  The  ship  was  lost,  a 
year  after,  by  the  disregard  of  this  last  warning.  When  the  news 
reached  New  York  of  the  massacre  of  the  crew  and  the  blowing- 
up  of  the  ship,  the  man  who  flew  into  a  passion  at  seeing  a  little 
boy  drop  a  wineglass  behaved  with  a  composure  that  was  the 
theme  of  general  admiration.  He  attended  the  theatre  the  same 
evening,  and  entered  heartily  into  the  play.  Mr.  Irving  relates 
that  a  friend  having  expressed  surprise  at  this,  Mr.  Astor  re- 
plied :  — 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  Would  you  have  me  stay  at 
home  and  weep  for  what  I  cannot  help  ?  " 

This  was  not  indifference  ;  for  when,  after  nearly  two  years  of 
weary  waiting,  he  heard  of  the  safety  and  success  of  the  overland 
expedition,  he  was  so  overjoyed  that  he  could  scarcely  contain 
himself. 

"  I  felt  ready,"  said  he,  "  to  fall  upon  my  knees  in  a  transport 
of  gratitude." 

A  touch  in  one  of  his  letters  shows  the  absolute  confidence  he 
felt  in  his  own  judgment  and  abilities,  a  confidence  invariably 
exhibited  by  men  of  the  first  executive  talents. 

"  Were  I  on  the  spot,"  he  wrote  to  one  of  his  agents  when  the 
affairs  of  the  settlement  appeared  desperate,  "  and  had  the  man- 
agement of  affairs,  I  would  defy  them  all ;  but,  as  it  is,  everything 
depends  upon  you  and  the  friends  about  you.  Our  enterprise  is 
grand  and  deserves  success,  and  I  hope  in  God  it  will  meet  it, 
If  my  object  was  merely  gain  of  money,  I  should  say :  '  Think 
whether  it  is  best  to  save  what  we  can  and  abandon  the  place 
out  the  thought  is  like  a  dagger  to  my  heart." 


JOHN  JACOB   ASTOB.  461 

He  intimates  here  that  his  object  was  not  merely  "gain  of 
money."  What  was  it,  then  ?  Mr.  Irving  informs  us  that  it  was 
desire  of  fame.  We  should  rather  say  that  when  nature  endows 
a  man  with  a  remarkable  gift  she  also  implants  within  him  the 
love  of  exercising  it.  Astor  loved  to  plan  a  vast,  far-reaching 
enterprise.  He  loved  it  as  Morphy  loves  to  play  chess,  as  Napo- 
leon loved  to  plan  a  campaign,  as  Raphael  loved  to  paint,  and 
Handel  to  compose. 

The  war  of  1812  foiled  the  enterprise.  "But  for  that  war," 
Mr.  Astor  used  to  say,  "  I  should  have  been  the  richest  man  that 
ever  lived."  He  expected  to  go  on  expending  money  for  several 
years,  and  then  to  gain  a  steady  annual  profit  of  millions.  It 
was,  however,  that  very  \\wr  that  enabled  him  to  sustain  the 
enormous  losses  of  the  enterprise  without  injury  to  his  estate,  or 
even  a  momentary  inconvenience.  During  the  first  year  of  the 
war  he  had  the  luck  to  receive  two  or  three  cargoes  of  tea  from 
China,  despite  the  British  cruisers.  In  the  second  year  of  the 
war,  when  the  Government  was  reduced  to  borrow  at  eighty,  he 
invested  largely  in  the  loan,  which,  one  year  after  the  peace, 
stood  at  one  hundred  and  twenty. 

Mr.  Astor  at  all  times  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  destiny  of  the 
United  States.  In  other  words,  he  held  its  public  stock  in  pro 
tound  respect.  He  had  little  to  say  of  politics,  but  he  was  a 
supporter  of  the  old  Whig  party  for  many  years,  and  had  a 
great  regard,  personal  and  political,  for  its  leader  and  orna- 
ment, Henry  Clay.  He  was  never  better  pleased  than  when 
he  entertained  Mr.  Clay  at  his  own  house.  It  ought  to  be  men- 
tioned in  this  connection  that  when,  in  June,  1812,  the  merchants 
of  New  York  memorialized  the  Government  in  favor  of  the  em- 
bargo, which  almost  annihilated  the  commerce  of  the  port,  the 
name  of  John  Jacob  Astor  headed  the  list  of  signatures. 

He  was  an  active  business  man  in  this  city  for  about  forty-six 
years,  —  from  his  twenty-first  to  his  sixty-seventh  year.  Toward 
the  year  1830  he  began  to  withdraw  from  business,  and  undertook 
no  new  enterprises,  except  such  as  the  investment  of  his  income 
involved.  His  three  daughters  were  married.  His  son  and  heir 
was  a  man  of  thirty.  Numerous  grandchildren  were  around 


462  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

hiflj,  for  whom  he  manifested  a  true  German  fondness ;  not,  how- 
ever, regarding  them  with  equal  favor.  He  dispensed,  occasion* 
ally,  a  liberal  hospitality  at  his  modest  house,  though  that  hospi- 
tality was  usually  bestowed  upon  men  whose  presence  at  his 
table  conferred  distinction  upon  him  who  sat  at  the  head  of  it. 
He  was  fond,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  of  the  society  of  literary 
men.  For  "Washington  Irving  he  always  professed  a  warm  re- 
gard, liked  to  have  him  at  his  house,  visited  him,  and  made  much 
of  him.  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  one  of  the  best  talkers  of  his 
day,  a  man  full  of  fun,  anecdote,  and  fancy,  hands'ome,  graceful, 
and  accomplished,  was  a  great  favorite  with  him.  He  afterward 
invited  the  poet  to  reside  with  him  and  take  charge  of  his  affairs, 
which  Mr.  Halleck  did  for  many  years,  to  the  old  gentleman's 
perfect  satisfaction.  Still  later  Dr.  Cogswell  won  his  esteem,  and 
was  named  by  him  Librarian  of  the  Astor  Library.  For  his 
own  part,  though  he  rather  liked  to  be  read  to  in  his  latter  days, 
he  collected  no  library,  no  pictures,  no  objects  of  curiosity.  As 
he  had  none  of  the  wasteful  vices,  so  also  he  had  none  of  the 
costly  tastes.  Like  all  other  rich  men,  he  was  beset  continually 
by  applicants  for  pecuniary  aid,  especially  by  his  own  country- 
men. As  a  rule  he  refused  to  give :  and  he  was  right.  He  held 
beggary  of  all  descriptions  in  strong  contempt,  and  seemed  to 
think  that,  in  this  country,  want  and  fault  are  synonymous. 
Nevertheless,  we  are  told  that  he  did,  now  and  then,  bestow  small 
sums  in  charity,  though  we  have  failed  to  get  trustworthy  evi- 
dence of  a  single  instance  df  his  doing  so.  It  is,  no  doubt,  ab- 
solutely necessary  for  a  man  who  is  notoriously  rich  to  guard 
against  imposture,  and  to  hedge  himself  about  against  the  swarms 
of  solicitors  who  pervade  a  large  and  wealthy  city.  If  he  did 
not,  he  would  be  overwhelmed  and  devoured.  His  time  would 
be  all  consumed  and  his  estate  squandered  in  satisfying  the  de- 
mands of  importunate  impudence.  Still,  among  the  crowd  of 
applicants  there  is  here  and  there  one  whose  claim  upon  the  aid 
of  the  rich  man  is  just.  It  were  much  to  be  desired  that  a  way 
should  be  devised  by  which  these  meritorious  askers  could  be 
sifted  from  the  mass,  and  the  nature  of  their  requests  made  known 
to  men  who  have  the  means  and  the  wish  to  aid  such.  Some 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR.  468 

kind  of  Benevolent  Intelligence  Office  appears  to  be  needed 
among  us.  In  the  absence  of  such  an  institution  we  must  not  be 
surprised  that  men  renowned  for  their  wealth  convert  themselves 
into  human  porcupines,  and  erect  their  defensive  armor  at  the 
approach  of  every  one  who  carries  a  subscription-book.  True, 
a  generous  man  might  establish  a  private  bureau  of  investigation ; 
but  a  generous  man  is  not  very  likely  to  acquire  a  fortune  of 
twenty  millions.  Such  an  accumulation  of  wealth  is  just  as  wise 
as  if  a  man  who  had  to  walk  ten  miles  on  a  hot  day  should,  of 
his  own  choice,  carry  on  his  back  a  large  sack  of  potatoes.  A 
man  of  superior  sense  and  feeling  will  not  waste  his  life  so,  unless 
he  has  in  view  a  grand  public  object.  On  the  contrary,  he  will 
rather  do  as  Franklin  did,  who,  having  acquired  at  the  age  of 
forty-two  a  modest  competence,  sold  out  his  thriving  business  on 
easy  terms  to  a  younger  man,  and  devoted  the  rest  of  his  happy 
life  to  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  the  service  of  his  country. 
But  we  cannot  all  be  Franklins.  In  the  affairs  of  the  world  mil- 
lionnaires  are  as  indispensable  as  philosophers  ;  and  it  is  fortunate 
for  society  that  some  men  take  pleasure  in  heaping  up  enormous 
masses  of  capital. 

Having  retired  from  business,  Mr.  Astor  determined  to  fulfil 
the  vow  of  his  youth,  and  build  in  Broadway  a  house  larger  and 
costlier  than  any  it  could  then  boast.  Behold  the  result  in  the 
Astor  House,  which  remains  to  this  day  one  of  our  most  solid, 
imposing,  and  respectable  structures.  The  ground  on  which  the 
hotel  stands  was  covered  with  substantial  three-story  brick  houses, 
one  of  which  Astor  himself  occupied ;  and  it  was  thought  at  the 
time  a  wasteful  and  rash  proceeding  to  destroy  them.  Old  Mr. 
Coster,  a  retired  merchant  of  great  wealth,  who  lived  next  door 
to  Mr.  Astor's  residence,  was  extremely  indisposed  to  remove, 
and  held  out  long  against  every  offer  of  the  millionnaire.  His 
house  was  worth  thirty  thousand  dollars.  Astor  offered  him  that 
sum ;  but  the  offer  was  very  positively  declined,  and  the  old  gen 
tleman  declared  it  to  be  his  intention  to  spend  the  remainder  of 
his  days  in  the  house.  Mr.  Astor  offered  forty  thousand  without 
effect.  At  length  the  indomitable  projector  revealed  his  purpow 
to  his  neighbor. 


464  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOE. 

"  Mr.  Coster,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  build  a  hotel.  I  have  got 
all  the  other  lots ;  now  name  your  own  price." 

To  which  Coster  replied  by  confessing  the  real  obstacle  to  the 
eale. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "  I  can't  sell  unless  Mrs.  Coster  con- 
sents. If  she  is  willing,  I  '11  sell  for  sixty  thousand,  and  you  can 
call  to-morrow  morning  and  ask  her." 

Mr.  Astor  presented  himself  at  the  time  named. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Astor,"  said  the  lady  in  the  tone  of  one  who  was 
conferring  a  very  great  favor  for  nothing,  "we  are  such  old 
friends  that  I  am  willing  for  your  sake." 

So  the  house  was  bought,  and  with  the  proceeds  Mr.  Coster 
built  the  spacious  granite  mansion  a  mile  up  Broadway,  which  is 
now  known  as  Barnum's  Museum.  Mr.  Astor  used  to  relate  this 
story  with  great  glee.  He  was  particularly  amused  at  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  old  lady  in  considering  it  a  great  favor  to  him  to 
sell  her  house  at  twice  its  value.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  re- 
moved to  a  wide,  two-story  brick  house  opposite  Niblo's,  the 
front  door  of  which  bore  a  large  silver  plate,  exhibiting  to  awe- 
struck passers-by  the  words:  "MR.  ASTOR."  Soon  after  the 
hotel  was  finished,  he  made  a  present  of  it  to  his  eldest  son,  or, 
in  legal  language,  he  sold  it  to  him  for  the  sum  of  one  dollar,  "  to 
him  in  hand  paid." 

In  the  decline  of  his  life,  when  his  vast  fortune  was  safe  from 
the  perils  of  business,  he  was  still  as  sparing  in  his  personal  ex- 
penditures, as  close  in  his  bargains,  as  watchful  over  his  accumu- 
lations as  he  had  been  when  economy  was  essential  to  his  sol- 
vency and  progress.  He  enjoyed  keenly  the  consciousness,  the 
Deling  of  being  rich.  The  roll-book  of  his  possessions  was  his 
Bible.  He  scanned  it  fondly,  and  saw  with  quiet  but  deep  de- 
light the  catalogue  of  his  property  lengthening  from  month  to 
month.  The  love  of  accumulation  grew  with  his  years  until  it 
ruled  him  like  a  tyrant.  If  at  fifty  he  possessed  his  millions,  at 
sixty-five  his  millions  possessed  him.  Only  to  his  own  children 
and  to  their  children  was  he  liberal ;  and  his  liberality  to  them 
was  all  arranged  with  a  view  to  keeping  his  estate  in  the  family 
and  to  cause  it  at  every  moment  to  tend  toward  a  final  consolida« 


JOHN  JACOB   ASTOB.  465 

tion  in  one  enormous  mass.  He  was  ever  considerate  for  the 
comfort  of  his  imbecile  son.  Ont  of  his  last  enterprises  was  to 
build  for  him  a  commodious  residence. 

In  1832,  one  of  his  daughters  having  married  a  European 
nobleman,  he  allowed  himself  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  to  her.  He 
remained  abroad  till  1835,  when  he  hurried  home  in  consequence 
of  the  disturbance  in  financial  affairs,  caused  by  General  Jack- 
son's war  upon  the  Bank  of  the  United  States.  The  captain  of 
the  ship  in  which  he  sailed  from  Havre  to  New  York  has  related 
to  us  some  curious  incidents  of  the  voyage.  Mr.  Astor  reached 
Havre  when  the  ship,  on  the  point  of  sailing,  had  every  state- 
room engaged  ;  but  he  was  so  anxious  to  get  home,  that  the  cap- 
tain, who  had  commanded  ships  for  him  in  former  years,  gave  up 
to  him  his  own  state-room.  Head  winds  and  boisterous  seas  kept 
the  vessel  beating  about  and  tossing  in  the  channel  for  many 
days.  The  great  man  was  very  sick  and  still  more  alarmed.  At 
length,  being  persuaded  that  he  should  not  survive  the  voyage, 
he  asked  the  captain  to  run  in  and  set  him  ashore  on  the  coast  of 
England.  The  captain  dissuaded  him.  The  old  man  urged  his 
request  at  e\4ery  opportunity,  and  said  at  last :  "  I  give  you  tou- 
sand  dollars  to  put  me  aboard  a  pilot-boat."  He  was  so  vehe- 
ment and  importunate,  that  one  day  the  captain,  worried  out  of 
all  patience,  promised  that  if  he  did  not  get  out  of  the  Channel 
before  the  next  morning,  he  would  run  in  and  put  him  ashore.  It 
Vappened  that  the  wind  changed  in  the  afternoon  and  wafted  the 
?  hip  into  the  broad  ocean.  But  the  troubles  of  the  sea-sick  million- 
naire  had  only  just  begun.  A  heavy  gale  of  some  days'  duration 
blew  the  vessel  along  the  western  coast  of  Ireland.  Mr.  Astor, 
thoroughly  panic-stricken,  now  offered  the  captain  ten  thousand 
dollars  if  he  would  put  him  ashore  anywhere  on  the  wild  and 
rocky  coast  of  the  Emerald  Isle.  In  vain  the  captain  remon- 
strated. In  vain  he  reminded  the  old  gentleman  of  the  danger 
of  forfeiting  his  insurance. 

"Insurance!"  exclaimed  Astor,  "can't  I  insure  your  ship 
myself?" 

In  vain  the  captain  mentioned  the  rights  of  the  other  passen- 
gers. In  vain  he  described  the  solitary  and  rock-bound  coast, 

20*  DD 


466  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB. 

and  detailed  the  difficulties  and  dangers  which  attended  its  ap 
proach.  Nothing  would  appease  him.  He  said  he  would  take 
all  the  responsibility,  brave  all  the  perils,  endure  all  the  conse- 
quences ;  only  let  him  once  more  feel  the  firm  ground  under  his 
feet.  The  gale  having  abated,  the  captain  yielded  to  his  entrea- 
ties, and  engaged,  if  the  other  passengers  would  consent  to  the 
delay,  to  stand  in  and  put  him  ashore.  Mr.  Astor  went  into  the 
cabin  and  proceeded  to  write  what  was  expected  to  be  a  draft  for 
ten  thousand  dollars  in  favor  of  the  owners  of  the  ship  on  his 
agent  in  New  York.  He  handed  to  the  captain  the  result  of  his 
efforts.  It  was  a  piece  of  paper  covered  with  writing  that  was 
totally  illegible. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"A  draft  upon  my  son  for  ten  thousand  dollars,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  no  one  can  read  it." 

"  O  yes,  my  son  will  know  what  it  is.  My  hand  trembles  so 
that  I  cannot  write  any  better.1* 

"  But,"  said  the  captain,  "  you  can  at  least  write  your  name.  I 
am  acting  for  the  owners  of  the  ship,  and  I  cannot  risk  their 
property  for  a  piece  of  paper  that  no  one  can  read.1  Let  one  of 
the  gentlemen  draw  up  a  draft  in  proper  form ;  you  sign  it ;  and 
I  will  put  you  ashore." 

The  old  gentleman  would  not  consent  to  this  mode  of  proceed- 
ing, and  the  affair  was  dropped. 

A  favorable  wind  blew  the  ship  swiftly  on  her  way,  and  Mr. 
Astor's  alarm  subsided.  But  even  on  the  banks  of  Newfound- 
land, two  thirds  of  the  way  across,  when  the  captain  went  upon 
the  poop  to  speak  a  ship  bound  for  Liverpool,  old  Astor  climbed 
up  after  him,  saying,  "  Tell  them  I  give  tousand  dollars  if  they 
take  a  passenger." 

Astor  lived  to  the  age  of  eighty-four.  During  the  last  few 
years  of  his  life  his  faculties  were  sensibly  impaired ;  he  was  a 
child  again.  It  was,  however,  while  his  powers  and  his  judgment 
were  in  full  vigor  that  he  determined  to  follow  the  example  of 
Girard,  and  bequeath  a  portion  of  his  estate  for  the  purpose  of 
"rendering  a  public  benefit  to  the  city  of  New  York."  He  con- 
sulted Mr.  Irving,  Mr.  Halleck,  Dr.  Cogswell,  and  hi?  own  son 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB.  467 

with  regard  to  the  object  of  this  bequest.  All  his  friends  con« 
curred  in  recommending  a  public  library;  and,  accordingly,  in 
1839,  he  added  the  well-known  codicil  to  his  will  which  conse- 
crated four  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  this  purpose.  To  Irving's 
Astoria  and  to  the  Astor  Library  he  will  owe  a  lasL'ng  fame  in 
the  country  of  his  adoption. 

The  last  considerable  sum  he  was  ever  known  to  give  away 
was  a  contribution  to  aid  the  election  to  the  Presidency  of  his 
old  friend  Henry  Clay.  The  old  man  was  always  fond  of  a 
compliment,  and  seldom  averse  to  a  joke.  It  was  the  timely 
application  of  a  jocular  compliment  that  won  from  him  this  last 
effort  of  generosity.  When  the  committee  were  presented  to  him, 
he  began  to  excuse  himself,  evidently  intending  to  decline  giving. 

"  I  am  not  now  interested  in  these  things,"  said  he.  "  Those 
gentlemen  who  are  in  business,  and  whose  property  depends  upon 
the  issue  of  the  election,  ought  to  give.  But  I  am  now  an  old 
man.  I  have  n't  anything  to  do  with  commerce,  and  it  makes  no 
difference  to  me  what  the  government  does.  I  don't  ncake  money 
any  more,  and  have  n't  any  concern  in  the  matter." 

One  of  the  committee  replied :  '  Why,  Mr.  Astor,  you  are  like 
Alexander,  when  he  wept  because  there  were  no  more  worlds  to 
conquer.  You  have  made  all  the  money,  and  now  there  is  no 
more  money  to  make."  The  old  eye  twinkled  at  the  blended 
compliment  and  jest. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  very  good,  that  *s  very  good.  Well,  well,  I  give 
you  something." 

Whereupon  he  drew  his  check  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 

When  all  else  had  died  within  him,  when  he  was  at  last  nour- 
ished like  an  infant  at  a  woman's  breast,  and  when,  btiing  no 
onger  able  to  ride  in  a  carriage,  he  was  daily  tossed  in  blanket 
lor  exercise,  he  still  retained  a  strong  interest  in  the  care  and 
increase  of  his  property.  His  agent  called  daily  upon  him  to 
render  a  report  of  moneys  received.  One  morning  this  gentle- 
man chanced  to  enter  his  room  while  he  was  enjoying  his  blanket 
exercise.  The  old  man  cried  out  from  the  middle  of  his  blanket,— 

"  Has  Mrs. paid  that  rent  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  agent. 


468  JOHN  JACOB  ASTOK. 

"  "Well,  but  she  must  pay  it,"  said  the  poor  old  man. 

"  Mr.  Astor,"  rejoined  the  agent,  "  she  can't  pay  it  now  ;  she 
has  had  misfortunes,  and  we  must  give  her  time." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Astor  ;  "  I  tell  you  she  can  pay  it,  and  she  will 
pay  it.  You  don't  go  the  right  way  to  work  with  her." 

The  agent  took  leave,  and  mentioned  the  anxiety  of  the  old 
gentleman  with  regard  to  this  unpaid  rent  to  his  son,  who  counted 
out  the  requisite  sum,  and  told  the  agent  to  give  it  to  the  old  man 
as  if  he  had  received  it  from  the  tenant. 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Astor  when  he  received  the  money, 
"  I  told  you  she  would  pay  it,  if  you  went  the  right  way  to  work 
with  her." 

Who  would  have  twenty  millions  at  such  a  price  ? 

On  the  twenty-ninth  of  March,  1848,  of  old  age  merely,  in  the 
presence  of  his  family  and  friends,  without  pain  or  disquiet,  this 
remarkable  man  breathed  his  last.  He  was  buried  in  a  vault  in 
the  church  of  St.  Thomas  in  Broadway.  Though  he  expressly 
declared  in  his  will  that  he  was  a  member  of  the  Reformed  Ger- 
man Congregation,  no  clergyman  of  that  church  took  part  in  the 
services  of  his  funeral.  The  unusual  number  of  six  Episcopal 
Doctors  of  Divinity  assisted  at  the  ceremony.  A  bishop  could 
have  scarcely  expected  a  more  distinguished  funeral  homage. 
Such  a  thing  it  is  in  a  commercial  city  to  die  worth  twenty  mil- 
lions !  The  pall-bearers  were  "Washington  Irving,  Philip  Hone, 
Sylvanus  Miller,  James  G.  King,  Isaac  Bell,  David  B.  Ogden, 
Thomas  J.  Oakley,  Eamsey  Crooks,  and  Jacob  B.  Taylor. 

The  public  curiosity  with  regard  to  the  will  of  the  deceased 
millionnaire  was  fully  gratified  by  the  enterprise  of  the  Herald, 
which  published  it  entire  in  five  columns  of  its  smallest  type  a 
day  or  two  after  the  funeral.  The  ruling  desires  of  Mr.  Astor 
with  regard  to  his  property  were  evidently  these  two :  1.  To 
provide  amply  and  safely  for  his  children,  grandchildren,  nephews, 
and  nieces ;  2.  To  keep  his  estate,  as  much  as  was  consistent 
with  his  desire,  in  one  mass  in  the  hands  of  his  eldest  son.  Hia 
brother  Henry,  the  butcher,  had  died  childless  and  rich,  leaving 
his  property  to  Mr.  "William  B.  Astor.  To  the  descendants  of 
the  brother  in  Germany  Mr.  Astor  left  small  but  sufficient  pen- 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR.  4<39 

eions.  To  many  of  his  surviving  children  and  grandchildren  in 
America  he  left  life-interests  and  stocks,  which  seem  designed  to 
produce  an  average  of  about  fifteen  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
Other  grandsons  were  to  have  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  on 
reaching  the  age  of  twenty-five,  and  the  same  sum  when  they 
were  thirty.  His  favorite  grandson,  Charles  Astor  Bristed,  since 
well  known  to  the  public  as  an  author  and  poet,  was  left  amply 
provided  for.  He  directed  his  executors  to  "  provide  for  my  un- 
fortunate son,  John  Jacob  Astor,  and  to  procure  for  him  all  the 
comforts  which  his  condition  does  or  may  require."  For  this  pur- 
pose ten  thousand  dollars  a  year  was  directed  to  be  appropriated, 
and  the  house  built  for  him  in  Fourteenth  Street,  near  Ninth 
Avenue,  was  to  be  his  for  life.  If  he  should  be  restored  to  the 
use  of  his  faculties,  he  was  to  have  an  income  of  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  The  number  of  persons,  all  relatives  or  connec- 
tions of  the  deceased,  who  were  benefited  by  the  will,  was  about 
twenty-five.  To  his  old  friend  and  manager,  Fitz-Greene  Hal- 
leek,  he  left  the  somewhat  ridiculous  annuity  of  two  hundred  dol- 
lars, which  Mr.  William  B.  Astor  voluntarily  increased  to  fifteen 
hundred.  Nor  was  this  the  only  instance  in  which  the  heir  rec- 
tified the  errors  and  supplied  the  omissions  of  the  will.  He  had 
the  justice  to  send  a  considerable  sum  to  the  brave  old  captain 
who  saved  for  Mr.  Astor  the  large  property  in  China  imperilled 
by  the  sudden  death  of  an  agent.  The  minor  bequests  and  lega- 
cies of  Mr.  Astor  absorbed  about  two  millions  of  his  estate.  The 
rest  of  his  property  fell  to  his  eldest  son,  under  whose  careful 
management  it  is  supposed  to  have  increased  to  an  amount  not 
less  than  forty  millions.  This  may,  however,  be  an  exaggeration. 
Mr.  William  B.  Astor  minds  his  own  business,  and  does  not  im- 
part to  others  the  secrets  of  his  rent-roll.  The  number  of  his 
houses  in  this  city  is  said  to  be  seven  hundred  and  twenty. 

The  bequests  of  Mr.  Astor  for  purposes  of  benevolence  show 
good  sense  and  good  feeling.  The  Astor  Library  fund  of  four 
hundred  thousand  dollars  was  the  largest  item.  Next  in  amount 
was  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  of  his  native 
village  in  Germany.  "  To  the  German  Society  of  New  York," 
continued  the  will,  "  I  give  thirty  thousand  dollars  on  condition 


470  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOB. 

of  their  investing  it  in  bond  and  mortgage,  and  applying  it  for  the 
purpose  of  keeping  an  office  and  giving  advice  and  information 
without  charge  to  all  emigrants  arriving  here,  and  for  the  purpose 
of  protecting  them  against  imposition."  To  the  Home  for  Aged 
Ladies  he  gave  thirty  thousand  dollars,  and  to  the  Blind  Asylum 
and  the  Half-Orphan  Asylum  each  five  thousand  dollars.  To  the 
German  Keformed  Congregation,  "  of  which  I  am  a  member,"  he 
left  the  moderate  sum  of  two  thousand  dollars.  These  objecta 
were  wisely  chosen.  The  sums  left  for  them,  also,  were  in  many 
cases  of  the  amount  most  likely  to  be  well  employed.  Twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  he  left  to  Columbia  College,  but  unfortunate- 
ly repented,  and  annulled  the  bequest  in  a  codicil. 

We  need  not  enlarge  on  the  success  which  has  attended  the 
bequest  for  the  Astor  Library,  —  a  bequest  to  which  Mr.  William 
B.  Astor  has  added,  in  land,  books,  and  money,  about  two  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars.  It  is  the  ornament  and  boast  of  the  city. 
Nothing  is  wanting  to  its  complete  utility  but  an  extension  of  the 
time  of  its  being  accessible  to  the  public.  Such  a  library,  in  such 
a  city  as  this,  should  be  open  at  sunrise,  and  close  at  ten  in  the 
evening.  If  but  one  studious  youth  should  desire  to  avail  him- 
self of  the  morning  hours  before  going  to  his  daily  work,  the  in- 
terests of  that  one  would  justify  the  directors  in  opening  the 
treasures  of  the  library  at  the  rising  of  the  sun.  In  the  evening, 
jf  course,  the  library  would  probably  be  attended  by  a  greater 
number  of  readers  than  in  all  the  hours  of  the  day  together. 

The  bequest  to  the  village  of  Waldorf  has  resulted  in  the 
founding  of  an  institution  that  appears  to  be  doing  a  great  deal 
of  good  in  a  quiet  German  manner.  The  German  biographer  of 
Mr.  Astor,  from  whom  we  have  derived  some  particulars  of  his 
early  life,  expatiates  upon  the  merits  of  this  establishment,  which, 
he  informs  us,  is  called  the  Astor  House. 

"  Certain  knowledge,"  he  says,  "  of  Astor's  bequest  reached 
Waldorf  only  in  1850,  when  a  nephew  of  Mr.  Astor's  and  one 
of  the  executors  of  his  will  appeared  from  New  York  in  the  tes- 
tator's native  town  with  power  to  pay  over  the  money  to  the 
proper  persons.  He  kept  himself  mostly  in  Heidelberg,  and  or- 
ganized a  supervisory  board  to  aid  in  the  disposition  of  the  fundi 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOB.  471 

io  accordance  with  the  testator's  intentions.  This  board  was  to 
have  its  head-quarters  in  Heidelberg,  and  was  to  consist  of  profes- 
sors in  the  University  there,  arid  clergymen,  not  less  than  five  in 
all.  The  board  of  control,  however,  consists  of  the  clergy  of 
Waldorf,  the  burgomaster,  the  physician,  a  citizen  named  every 
three  years  by  the  Common  Council,  and  the  governor  of  the  In- 
stitution, who  must  be  a  teacher  by  profession.  This  latter  board 
has  control  of  all  the  interior  arrangements  of  the  Institution,  and 
the  care  of  the  children  and  beneficiaries.  The  leading  objects 
of  the  As  tor  House  are :  1.  The  care  of  the  poor,  who,  through 
age,  disease,  or  other  causes,  are  incapable  of  labor ;  2.  The  rear- 
ing and  instruction  of  poor  children,  especially  those  who  live  in 
Waldorf.  Non-residents  are  received  if  there  is  room,  but  they 
must  make  compensation  for  their  board  and  instruction.  Chil- 
dren are  received  at  the  age  of  six,  and  maintained  until  they  are 
fifteen  or  sixteen.  Besides  school  instruction,  there  is  ample  pro- 
vision for  physical  culture.  They  are  trained  in  active  and  in- 
dustrious habits,  and  each  of  them,  according  to  his  disposition,  is 
to  be  taught  a  trade,  or  instructed  in  agriculture,  market-garden- 
ing, the  care  of  vineyards,  or  of  cattle,  with  a  view  to  rendering 
them  efficient  farm-servants  or  stewards.  It  is  also  in  contem- 
plation to  assist  the  blind  and  the  deaf  and  dumb,  and,  finally,  to 
establish  a  nursery  for  very  young  children  left  destitute.  Cath- 
olics and  Protestants  are  admitted  on  equal  terms,  religious  dif- 
ferences not  being  recognized  in  the  applicants  for  admission. 
Some  time  having  elapsed  before  the  preliminary  arrangements 
were  completed,  the  accumulated  interest  of  the  fund  went  so  far 
toward  paying  for  the  buildings,  that  of  the  original  fifty  thousand 
dollars  not  less  than  forty-three  thousand  have  been  permanently 
invested  for  the  support  of  the  Institution." 

Thus  they  manage  bequests  in  Germany  !  The  Astor  House 
was  opened  with  much  ceremony,  January  9, 1854,  the  very  year 
in  which  the  Astor  Library  was  opened  to  the  public  in  the  city 
of  New  York.  The  day  of  the  founder's  death  is  annually  cele- 
Drated  in  the  chapel  of  the  Institution,  which  is  adorned  by  his 
portrait. 

These  two  institutions  will  carry  the  name  of  John  Jacob  Astoi 


472  JOHN  JACOB   ASTOR. 

to  the  latest  generations.  But  they  are  not  the  only  service? 
which  he  rendered  to  the  public.  It  would  be  absurd  to  contend 
that  in  accumulating  his  enormous  estate,  and  in  keeping  it  al- 
most entirely  in  the  hands  of  his  eldest  son,  he  was  actuated  by  a 
regard  for  the  public  good.  He  probably  never  thought  of  the 
public  good  in  connection  with  the  bulk  of  his  property.  Never- 
theless, America  is  so  constituted  that  every  man  in  it  of  force 
and  industry  is  necessitated  to  be  a  public  servant.  If  this 
colossal  fortune  had  been  gained  in  Europe  it  would  probably 
have  been  consumed  in  what  is  there  called  "  founding  a  family." 
Mansions  would  have  been  built  with  it,  parks  laid  out,  a  title  of 
nobility  purchased  ;  and  the  income,  wasted  in  barren  and  stupid 
magnificence  would  have  maintained  a  host  of  idle,  worthless, 
and  pampered  menials.  Here,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  expended 
almost  wholly  in  providing  for  the  people  of  New  York  the  very 
commodity  of  which  they  stand  in  most  pressing  need  ;  namely, 
new  houses.  The  simple  reason  why  the  rent  of  a  small  house 
in  New  York  is  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  is,  because  the  sup- 
ply of  houses  is  unequal  to  the  demand.  We  need  at  this  mo- 
ment five  thousand  more  houses  in  the  city  of  New  York  for  the 
decent  accommodation  of  its  inhabitants  at  rents  which  they  can 
afford  to  pay.  The  man  who  does  more  than  any  one  else  to 
supply  the  demand  for  houses  is  the  patient,  abstemious,  and 
laborious  heir  of  the  Astor  estate.  He  does  a  good  day's  work 
for  us  in  this  business  every  day,  and  all  the  wages  he  receives 
for  so  much  care  and  toil  is  a  moderate  subsistence  for  himself 
and  his  family,  and  the  very  troublesome  reputation  of  being  the 
richest  man  in  America.  And  the  business  is  done  with  the 
minimum  of  waste  in  every  department.  In  a  quiet  little  office 
in  Prince  Street,  the  manager  of  the  estate,  aided  by  two  or  three 
aged  clerks  (one  of  them  of  fifty-five  years'  standing  in  the  office), 
transacts  the  business  of  a  property  larger  than  that  of  many  sov- 
ereign princes.  Everything,  also,  is  done  promptly  and  in  the 
best  manner.  If  a  tenant  desires  repairs  or  alterations,  an  agent 
calls  at  the  house  within  twenty-four  hours,  makes  the  requisite 
inquiries,  reports,  and  the  work  is  forthwith  begun,  or  the  tenant 
is  notified  that  it  will  not  be  done.  The  concurrent  testimony  of 


JOHN  JACOB  ASTOR 

Mr.  Aster's  tenants  is,  that  he  is  one  of  the  most  liberal  and  oblig- 
ing of  landlords. 

So  far,  therefore,  the  Astor  estate,  immense  as  it  is,  appears  to 
have  been  an  unmixed  good  to  the  city  in  which  it  is  mainly  in 
vested.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that,  in  the  hands  of 
the  next  heir,  it  will  continue  to  be  managed  with  the  same  pru- 
dence and  economy  that  mark  the  conduct  of  its  present  proprie- 
tor. "We  indulge  the  hope  that  either  the  present  or  some  future 
possessor  may  devote  a  portion  of  his  vast  revenue  to  the  build- 
ing of  a  new  order  of  tenement  houses,  on  a  scale  that  will  en- 
able a  man  who  earns  two  dollars  a  day  to  occupy  apartments  fit 
for  the  residence  of  a  family  of  human  beings.  The  time  is  ripe 
for  it.  May  we  live  to  see  in  some  densely  populated  portion  of 
the  city,  a  new  and  grander  ASTOR  HOUSE  arise,  that  shall  de- 
monstrate to  the  capitalists  of  every  city  in  America  that  nothing 
will  pay  better  as  an  investment  than  HOUSES  FOR  THE  PEOPLE, 
which  shall  afford  to  an  honest  laborer  rooms  in  a  clean,  orderly, 
and  commodious  pal/ice,  at  the  price  he  now  pays  for  a  corner  of  a 
dirty  fever-breeding  barrack  I 


THE  END. 


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